Honor To Serve
by Stephen Ratliff
Summary: A continuation of the world of Honor a Hufflepuff. Harry Potter takes up his seat in the Wizengamot before his fifth year.
1. The Hogwarts Express

_Author's Note:_

_This is the sequel to _Honor a Hufflepuff_, also available on this site. As with _Honor a Hufflepuff_, _Neville Reads the Prophet_ will continue to be a side story, though not as in the day to day that it was with _Honor a Hufflepuff_. Posting will be done as parts are complete. That means that it is at the whim of the muse. You have been warned. Thanks to the members of CaerAzkaban who helped make this a lot better than it was._

_Please note that though you may jump to the conclusion of some pairings in this story, I shall not be setting on one for Harry in this story. In fact, you can expect Harry to be effected by several different girls during the course of this story._

**Chapter One - The Hogwarts Express**

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was out for the year, and Harry Potter was about to embark on a new journey. Just five days ago, he had expected to be returning to the Dursleys to be jailed there for the first part of the Summer. The weather as he stepped out of the Entrance Hall would have been appropriate. Dismal, Dark, and Dreary, a crack of thunder and flash of lightning greeted the boy who had just completed his fourth year. He took four steps out of the castle, and the heavens opened up.

By the time Harry got to Hogsmead Station, he was soaked to the bone. It was a good thing that Mister Filch didn't patrol the Hogwarts Express. Harry couldn't count the times that a he'd angered the squib returning from Quidditch practice. He stepped on to the Express, at the front, onto the Prefect's Carriage. It was the first door, so it was the quickest way to get out of the weather. The first door was to the Prefect's main compartment, but the second, labeled with an engraved gold plate was "Wizengamot Lords, Ladies, and Heirs."

Harry slid open the door. The compartment practically sparkled. The polished rich dark wood was mahogany, and the brass fixtures gleamed. It was the largest compartment that Harry had seen on the Express, though he hadn't looked into the Prefect's compartment. It seemed wrong somehow to look into it before he had a chance to be a Prefect.

As he stepped in, Harry heard behind him, "It's a good thing you're senior for this compartment." It was Neville. His dormmate and Wizengamot advisor was ever bit as soaked as he was. "Ocie was senior, but really couldn't stand up to Malfoy ... and neither could I really ... so this was his domain. Those hooks have a charm on them to dry our robes."

"He's going to be upset that I'm taking this compartment away from him, isn't he?" Harry smiled, taking off his robe and hanging it up on one of the brass hooks.

"Oh yes," Neville grinned. "I hope you don't mind, I invited Ocie, Ophelia Campbell, holder of the Dunbarton seat in the Wizengamot. She just finished her second year in Hufflepuff."

"One of Cedric's?" Harry asked. The core group of Hufflepuffs who had been First Years when Cedric Diggory had made Prefect had impressed Harry. They organized and ran the Memorial Wall, the one honor which Harry had not really been involved in. He'd also seen them polishing up the special run of the Express to take Diggory home. Neville nodded. "I don't see a problem, as long as we can keep Malfoy out."

"Oh, I want to be in on that," a female voice said from the door. It wasn't one that Harry was familiar with. He turned to find a dark haired young girl in Hufflepuff robes, carrying a bright yellow umbrella.

"Harry, I'd like to introduce my friend from Hufflepuff," Neville said, his arm guiding the girl in. "Her grace, Ophelia Campbell of Dunbarton ... but call her Ocie if you value your hair."

"I only did it once, Neville," Ocie said, tapping her umbrella against the floor three times. The umbrella dried and shrunk enough that the girl was able to place it in an inside pocket of her robes.

The next girl to arrive had Harry nearly speechless. She had already taken off her robes, leaving her attired in a soaked white blouse and gray skirt. Her long red hair was plastered to her body. The girl silently cast a spell on herself, and an updraft of warm air surrounded her, causing her hair to float briefly like a nimbus of fire around her head. "It worked," Ginny Weasley said, as the spell ended. "I think you need to dry off too, Harry."

For almost a half a minute, Harry did not reply. Right before the Yule Ball, when he'd seen Hermione come down dressed in her gown, had been the first time he'd recognized that she really was a girl. When Ginny Weasley had entered the compartment with her soaked to transparent blouse ... for the first time he'd seen her as a girl, not just his best friend Ron's little sister. Her fiery red hair triggered a desire that he hadn't felt before, for anyone. He was not sure how he managed to reply, "Yes."

With that response, Ginny cast her spell, and Harry was sounded by a warm soft wind. It seemed to warm his soul as it dried his clothes. The day seemed to suddenly brighten, and Ginny seemed for the moment to be the sun in Harry's eyes. As the spell ended, the warmth remained. "Neville?" she asked, her warm brown eyes locked on Harry.

"No thank you, Ginny," Neville said. "You're lucky to get that spell to work twice in one day."

"I have you know that I haven't failed since Valentine's Day!" Ginny said, whipping her head around to face Neville, her eyes suddenly flashing, as wisps of her hair crossed her face.

Before he could stop from saying it, Harry spoke, the spell broken, "So Ginny's the spitfire who fried your undies that day?"

"You promised you wouldn't tell!" Ginny whined, as Harry recovered his senses. Neville's undies had been singed when he had come back from taking Ginny to Hogsmeade. Harry had thought that it was another girl that had cast the spell. Remembering that he'd been Ginny's date, Harry tried to forget his reaction. He hoped Ginny didn't look down at his trousers.

"If I didn't come to get you, you would end up missing the train, Ron. And my bag isn't that heavy." Hermione entered the compartment, her black umbrella already folded up. Ron was right behind her, and it appeared that carrying the aforementioned bag was the price for sharing Hermione's umbrella. Hermione put down her cat carrier, and let Crookshanks out.

The cat immediately jumped out, and sought out a convenient lap to curl up on, Harry's. He welcomed the cat, hoping that he'd stay there long enough for it to go down, and began petting his best female friend's familiar. He kept Crookshanks there as Hermione folded out a side desk and arranged the papers he'd given her to review for him. Petting the cat was quite relaxing, and he gave Crookshanks his full attention until Hermione was done arranging her papers.

Only then did Crookshanks jump from Harry's lap to his mistress. The cat was well trained, at least in not messing up Hermione's work. Harry looked up to discover that everyone he'd invited had arrived. Hannah Abbot was sitting between Susan Bones and Ocie Campbell on the bench behind Neville, who was still standing beside the door, which he'd just closed.

There was a knock on the door, and Neville opened it. It was Malfoy, Crab, and Goyle. "Get out of our compartment, Longbottom," Malfoy ordered.

Neville blocked them from entering with his arm, turning to look at Harry. "My Lord Potter, the Malfoy heir hath demanded that we depart forthwith," Neville said in a haughty tone.

Harry stood up and strode over to the door. "I believe that I control this compartment, correct?" he asked.

"You are the only student with an actual seat on the Wizengamot," Neville acknowledged.

"Malfoy, go find another seat," Harry said, crossing his arms. "I find the families I have invited here to be worth much more than you are. Thank you for helping me figure that out. This compartment is all full, with no room for someone with your views."

"You'll regret this Potter," Malfoy said, as Neville closed the door.

"I doubt it," Harry muttered. Then he turned to his friends. "Now that Malfoy's made his visit, we can get on to the latest mess I've gotten myself into."

"I think it's called the Wizengamot, Harry," Ron said. "If Hermione's notes are right ... and when have you found them not to be? ... It's a governing body of forty-nine permanent seats plus an unlimited amount of life peer seats, currently two. If I remember the paper right, you've got a meeting Friday afternoon."

"Yes, Ron, I think it was that," Hermione said flatly. "Harry, I've composed a list of what you need by then, and a couple things to think about it."

"Lay it on me, Hermione," Harry said with air of resigned acceptance.

"Well, first according to the reply from Wizengamot Services, you've chosen Surrey as your County of Representation," Hermione said. "You're required to have a meeting for the forwarding of redress of grievances at least two times a year. Pursuant to that, you indicated your residence address of Number Four Privit Drive, Little Whinging as your local residence and contact address. The location of your next Forward of Grievance Meeting must be posted outside this dwelling by Saturday. This does not give you long to find a meeting place."

"Aunt Petunia's parlor probably won't do, then," Harry said. "I think the library has rooms available. I'll check tomorrow morning."

"Wizenmgamot Services has assigned you an office, number fifty-one, and you'll need staff," Hermione said, as she pulled out another piece of paper. "You might be able to get through the summer with unpaid interns, especially since said unpaid interns are exempt from the Reasonable Restriction for Underage Magic. You'll need a Chief of Staff, receptionist, and probably some research assistants."

"What about Press Secretary?" Harry asked.

"What's that?" Neville asked. "I know Grand doesn't have one."

"Someone who handles all the contact with the press," Harry said as Crookshanks returned to his lap, and slid his head under Harry's hand. "After all the stories Rita Skeeter published last year I don't want to ever have a paper saying that I was unavailable for comment. Uncle Vernon always said that was a sign that there was something wrong with the bugger when the paper said that. Ginny, your Friend Luna's father runs the Quibbler, doesn't he?"

"Yes," Ginny said, suddenly looking right at Harry, reminding him of how she'd looked when she entered the compartment.

"Can you go find her?" Harry asked, grateful for Crookshank's return. Ginny nodded and left. "Hermione, I don't want to be presumptuous, but I'm hoping you want to be on staff as my Chief of Research. I hear the Wizengamot Library is almost as big as Hogwarts."

"Bigger, quite a bit bigger, nearly triple," Hermione said. "But you don't need to bribe me."

"I know, Hermione," Harry smiled. "Anyone else want to volunteer for summer staffing of the office of the Honorable Wizengamot Member from Surrey? I'm sure the office will be decidedly non-professional, and it will look good on your resume. I'll spring for pizza if we end up working late, too."

"I don't know Harry, it sounds like a lot of work," Ron said. "I mean the waiver is nice, but some of us want to spend the summer relaxing."

"Hermione, schedule of hearings, Education Committee," Neville asked. "I think it's next Tuesday. You did tell Grand that you'd be on her committee."

"Yes, and the Headmaster managed to convince me to be on General Services," Harry said. "Dead boring that one is going to be."

Hermione thumbed through a stack of paper, before pulling it out. "Tuesday, half passed two, Hearing on recent decreases in NEWT Potions enrollment and earning at Hogwarts. Witnesses. Severus Snape, Potions Master, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, the same. Rufus Scrimgeour, Head Auror, Ministry of Magic. Bathilda Bagshot, Noted Educational Scholar, Godric's Hollow."

"I may be the most junior member of the committee, but I want to see if I can make Snape squirm," Harry smirked. "Care to help me prepare to do that?"

"I'd give up tickets for the Cannon's to see that, much less help," Ron shot back. "Just don't take up all my summer."

"That will depend on how much help I get," Harry said. "Can I count on some help from anyone else?"

"Count me in, Harry," Neville said. "At the very least I'll help you with the stuff on Grand's committee. What other committee did you get on?"

"Just Dumbledore's General Services Committee," Harry said. "There weren't very many openings, and I'm not qualified to be a Law Lord. If someone drops from Justice, I'll try to get on that instead." He wasn't sure why, but something about that committee's duties pulled him.

"That's the one that covers Magical Games and Sports," Ron said. "Yea, I'd want that one too."

That wasn't the reason Harry wanted it, but he wasn't going to tell Ron that. It was actually a point against the committee that it did Magical Games and Sports. Harry had some dreams of playing professional Quidditch some day. Krum seemed to think he had a chance.

"Auntie used to be on General Services," Susan Bones said, addressing Harry for the first time. "Can I be a staff member for your work on that committee."

"General Services," Hannah said turning to her friend. "It sounds so boring. I don't see why you'd want to serve on it."

"Oh it's not. General Services does everything that the other committees don't. If a special committee is made for something that fits between two others, General Services picks the chair from it's members, so you get the odd combos too. I mean you can have a general committee meeting that starts out with the cost of parchment, and ends the day discussing public parks. There once was a meeting that discussed gem quality and the use of runic based protective wards. It can be so fascinating."

"Okay, I'm in," Hannah said. "It might be nice to be able to dry my hair instantly in the summer."

"Do you think you could use some Hufflepuff pages who just finished their second years?" Ocie asked. "I can't get an exemption working for my own proxy, and I'm sure I can get the others in my year in Hufflepuff to join me."

"I'd be glad to have you all," Harry said.

...

Draco Abraxas Malfoy had to find a open compartment for the first time in his life. If he'd known it would have been an issue, he probably would have gone down earlier. Instead he arrived just in time. This usually provided him with the amusement of tossing Longbottom out of the compartment. Campbell usually left with him, though Draco wouldn't have really minded if the Second Year had stayed. He knew that some day he'd have to work with Campbell, and unlike Longbottom she wasn't a class rival. Longbottom had beaten him every single year in Herbology, which was actually Draco's second strongest class, behind Potions.

When it came to school, Draco had plenty of rivals. The muggleborn witch, Granger, had been the bane of his class ranking from day one. She'd beaten him in almost every class, save Potions, and once in Defense. Potter was constantly beating him in Defense and of course, Quidditch. He really didn't care that Bones was beating him in History of Magic, but the fact that Weasley pushed him down to fifth in Creatures this year ... Draco's parents were not going to be happy with that. They could put up with the fact that Potter had managed pass him in Charms, especially after the first task. Draco had tried for weeks to learn how to summon his broom, and still couldn't do it from the distance Potter had. But Weasley beating him in three subjects!

Draco found a compartment that only had one person in it, a blond Ravenclaw. He didn't ask to join her, he just sat down opposite her and continued to fume. Crabb and Goyle had abandoned him for some sort of game in Nott's compartment, involving their rats. Pansy wasn't speaking to him, after he had apparently said something wrong to her a couple weeks ago. Draco still wasn't sure what he'd said wrong when Pansy had brought up the subject of baby names. He thought it might have been his statement that boys just didn't think about what they'd name their future children. It could have been his suggestion of Scorpius for a boy name, though.

"Cassiopeia." Draco looked at the Ravenclaw, not certain that she'd spoken. "She'll like it." The Ravenclaw turned the page of her paper. She had radishes for earrings. Draco looked away.

Draco had taken for granted his access to the Lords and Heirs compartment on the Hogwarts Express. He shouldn't have. The admission, even silently to himself, was hard to admit. Admitting it, though, opened him to a lot of other admissions. Longbottom was good in Herbology. Draco had overheard Longbottom explain how he'd aerated the soil around a couple of his plantings and tried it himself. His mother had actually complimented him on the resulting foliage. Maybe if he was a little less ... a little better with Longbottom, the Herbology prodigy would help him get his mother's favorite African violets to bloom in time for her birthday.

"Water from below." More nonsense from the Ravenclaw blonde.

He refused to admit, except while fuming about the unfairness of life, and then only silently, that Longbottom was probably responsible for how far he'd gotten with a girl. Draco had even stolen a line he'd heard Longbottom use. It'd worked rather well with Pansy at the time. And he was pretty sure that Longbottom hadn't gone all the way with it.

"That's the issue," the Ravenclaw blonde put down her paper. "Do you have a copy of today's Prophet?" Draco didn't have the time to respond. "Never mind, Neville does."

"Longbottom isn't here," Draco said as the Ravenclaw put her paper in her bag.

"No, but I think you would rather have Pansy sitting here than me." The door slid open, revealing the Weasley Girl. "Ginny, tell Harry I accept, and I will be there in a moment after I tell Draco something."

"He didn't bother you, did he?" Ginny asked. "If he did, I'm sure my brothers would be interested, after I'm done of course."

"No," Luna shook her head, before sliding the door shut. "Draco, when she arrives, tell her that you missed her, and what ever you do, don't ever ask about stones." She slid the door open, and left the compartment, joining the Weasley Girl.

Draco didn't stay there alone long. He stood by the door, looking down the corridor. It wasn't long before the next compartment opened, and Pansy exited. Her face was distorted in sadness, tears going down her cheeks. Draco was certain that if she would have seen him, she would have turned the other way. She didn't, though, not until her fleeing brought her into Draco's arms.

He pulled her into his compartment, into his lap. Producing a silk handkerchief, he gently dried her tears, before offering it to her to blow her nose. It always amazed him how soft a sound Pansy made. With her in his arms, he said, "I missed you." And then to both their surprise, he continued, "I'm sorry."

Then they kissed. Not a soft press of lips on the cheek, nor a peck on the lips. No, they snogged. His tongue in her mouth, her tongue in his. Their bodies pressed together, hands feeling up and down each other's backs, nearly ever other thought left Draco's mind. Only one thought marginally unrelated to what he and Pansy were doing held on, and only the tangent allowed that to happen. Draco was sure that Potter and Longbottom had never been kissed like Pansy kissed him.

...

The faded black 1929 Ford Model A Sedan Delivery pulled into Privet drive with a wheeze. Behind the wheel, Albus Dumbledore made a note that it might be time to overhaul the engine again. He was glad that he had the foresight to preposition the van in Surrey. His van was familiar to some of the residents of Little Whinging, mainly because it went through the town ever year before Harry returned to Number Four. It made a fairly good surveillance vehicle, in Albus's opinion. Of course, today, he had to do more than just go by and remind Petunia Dursley to pick Harry up.

Dumbledore had been most disappointed in the Dursley's behavior, once he finally got Harry to tell him why he didn't want to return to Number Four. Dumbledore was sure that if the confrontation had occurred in his office, he'd be doing extensive repairs. Harry had nearly flown away though. He expected that the tale of Harry Potter and Headmaster's flight among the towers of Hogwarts was going to join the legends of the school. He hoped that the honors for Cedric might hide the story a bit.

With what seemed to be it's last gasp, Dumbledore brought his Ford to stop right in front of Number Four. He reached through the open window and adjusted his mirror so he could make sure he was presentable. His collarless tan button down shirt barely showed under his long beard, between his open gray rough and slightly tattered jacket. The side of his van proclaimed it as "Evan's Family Garden Service," with the motto, "We don't just plant Roses, Lillies, and Petunias, they're family."

He'd bought the Ford at Lily's Grandfather's estate auction, back in 1977, along with a 1964 Austin Martin DB5. Dumbledore readily admitted that he got a lot more use out of his DB5. He'd promised James Potter a ride in it, once. Perhaps he'd be able to meet that promise with Harry. It might be interesting to arrive at the Wizengamot in it. Adjusting his cap, he climbed out and ambled up to the door of number four.

He didn't need to press the chimes. That was a shame, as he'd always liked the use of the Westminister chimes that the Dursley's had chosen for their door chime. The door opened, "Petunia, I am so glad I managed to catch you at home this year," Dumbledore said, his voice pitched so that it would carry over to next door. Then much quieter, he continued. "We need to chat. It would be best for you if it's privately."

"Come in," Petunia said, an expression of fear on her face, yet somehow she managed to ask a question, "Is that my Grandfather Evan's van?"

"Indeed it is," Dumbledore said as he followed Petunia into the parlor. "It makes a wonderful cover for the work which I must preform today. First, however, I must express my extreme disappointment in you, Petunia." He looked over his spectacles into Petunia's deep green eyes. Outwardly, Petunia and Lily looked little alike, but they shared the same eyes, eyes that Harry shared as well.

Petunia sunk into the sofa. Dumbledore knew that it was taking great courage for her to stay there, and not run. He could feel her guilt. "Keeping your nephew in the cupboard under the stairs, locking him in the smallest bedroom and delivering food to him via a cat flap ... Petunia Evans Dursley, you have a lot to account for. Feel fortunate that I am willing to forgo sentencing you to the Dementor's Kiss for now. Pray that Harry does not convince me otherwise."

Dumbledore could tell that Petunia was suitably scared. He didn't have to read her mind, though he did that anyway. He really didn't know what was a suitable punishment for her treatment of Harry. He found himself at fault for the situation in the first place, though he had no idea the treatment would be as bad. In Dumbledore's world, family was much more important. After all, Algie Longbottom had spent six months in prison after dropping Neville.

"Harry is now considered an adult in the Wizarding World, due to some oversights by several members of the Wizengamot, including myself," Dumbledore began. "This does not, however, carry over to your side. Here on Privet Drive, he is still a child. Unfortunately, as wizard, he has a few additional responsibilities. He was granted a seat in the Wizengamot when his parents were killed. As an of age wizard, has taken up that seat."

Petunia's expression moved from scared out of her wits to astonishment. He could tell that she wanted to say something, but he did not allow her to interrupt. "He has chosen Surrey as his Historic County of representation, and this house remains as his home address. As such, he is required to post a schedule of the Wizengamot meetings in a public portion of his residence grounds."

It took a while before Petunia got her wits together enough to respond, and she seemed to be about to say something before reconsidering. "But all the neighbors... What about your statute of secrecy?"

"Oh, that will not be a problem," Dumbledore smiled, with his eyes twinkling. "You see, your Great Uncle Albus has managed to get an internationally know garden designer to complete the fantastical design which you and Lily created when you were only nine. You left it in the back. I assure you that once it's installed, people coming by to look at it will be considered perfectly normal."

Dumbledore pulled two pieces of paper out from his jacket. One of them was filled with a fantasy design, obviously done by a pair of children in crayon. It was signed in red "Petunia" and in blue "Lily." The other was professional drawing of the same basic design made reality. There was an intricate water feature, lilies, roses, and petunias. The preponderance of lilies was especially notable as being that which had been cut back the most between the child's drawing and the professional one. He laid both on the coffee table.

Petunia reached out and gently traced her sister's childish signature. Dumbledore felt her mind going back to that time, and time that he could tell she thought everything was right during. He could feel the tension draining out of the woman, and he allowed it to. "Lily," the name escaped from Petunia's lips, and tears started to form for the first time since she had found her nephew on the doorstep. The debris of life, the life of a young mother suddenly responsible for two young toddlers, the resentment that had begun not just with Harry's arrival, but when being pregnant with Dudley had cost her a job she had loved.

"Petunia," Dumbledore said gently as the crying ebbed. "Would you like Harry, myself, and a few friends to build this for you?"

The acceptance was soft, almost breathless, "Yes," she said, her finger tracing the outlines of the professional plan now. "Lilium superbum ... Lily always wanted mum to plant these... lilium longiforum."

Dumbledore let her look at the plans for a few minutes, enjoying the almost childlike joy Petunia radiated from her review of them. Eventually, though, he had to interrupt. "Of course, it will take a bit of time to build. It is not often that I find time to garden, this summer though, I shall. I dare say that Harry and I will find it a welcome break from Wizengamot duties. You can expect us to be working on it most afternoons. Please inform your neighbors that your new front garden is a gift ... from an old family friend."

...

_Comments, Compliments, Complaints, and Critiques accepted. I'm notoriously thick skinned._


	2. Platform to Drive

Honor to Serve

Chapter Two

Harry Potter knew that his Uncle Vernon was actually picking up both him and his cousin Dudley for the summer at King's Cross Station. It wasn't usual that both of them would arrive at the same time. With the Triwizard Tournament, though, Hogwarts was actually getting out a whole week early, which neatly lined up with Dudley's return from Smeltings. Of course, Harry was returning from nine and three quarters and Dudley from platform six, on a more conventional train than the magical steam train from Scotland.

This time was going to be different in many ways. First of all, Harry's trunk was not on the Hogwarts Express, and neither was Hedwig. When the Headmaster had said that he would need to talk to Aunt Petunia, Harry had not been shy, asking that Dumbledore handle the delivery of his stuff home. So the only luggage he had with him was the brief case which Neville had obtained for him. It was black leather, with gold clasps and a lock that could only be opened if his left thumb was on it. It went well with the white dress shirt, Hogwarts tie, and black trousers that he'd purchased in Hogsmead over the Winter Break to wear under his school robes. Regrettably, his belt did not match, so he'd forgone it.

Harry Potter was not returning to Privet Drive as the vagabond nephew that his uncle had forced him to be seen as. Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones had seen to that. On hearing why Harry had chosen to dress more formally than he did at Hogwarts, normally, to begin his summer vacation, they had immediately taken charge. He'd gotten a hair cut courtesy Susan. Hannah had charmed his shirt to be stain resistant, and retied his tie from a four-in-hand knot to a Windsor knot. Not that Harry really could tell the difference. The girls all said they could though.

As he caught a view of himself in the reflection of the window as he proceeded down the train to the exit, he had to admit that he didn't look all that bad. The new golden frames that Professor McGonagall had transfigured for him were actually the only part he really personally cared for though. After the black thick frames that Aunt Petunia had gotten him, and he'd worn for years, the light wire frames were so much better. He'd been admonished by Madam Pomfrey for updating his prescription by magic, though to be honest, he hadn't known that he was doing that.

Being only encumbered by his new briefcase, Harry was able to weave between the other students waiting for their parents and towing their trunks. It did not take long for him to exit platform nine and three quarters and set to look for his Uncle Vernon.

He found his Uncle standing between platforms three and four. Uncle Vernon had obviously come directly from work, judging by his dark gray jacket, matching trousers, starched white shirt, and official Grunnings Green tie. The tie was loosed, of course. It always was, by this time of day. Harry actually suspected that it barely reached Grunnings. Harry stepped up beside his uncle noticing that he seemed to be in an usually good mood. "Good Afternoon, Uncle Vernon," Harry said in the most respectful tone he could manage.

"Boy," Vernon responded. Harry was quite familiar with all the tones that word could be said in. Long practice had enabled him to judge that. Today it was a surprisingly neutral one, as if his uncle was focusing on something else. "Back from that school, and left your abnormal stuff behind."

"I thought I'd try looking respectable, for a change," Harry said, as a train came to stop. "That Dudley's train?"

"About time you did," Vernon said. "And if Dudley knows what's good for him, he should be on this train."

Harry knew that most of the reason he hadn't looked respectable was that he was using Dudley's hand-me-downs, rather than get his own. It really didn't bother him though. He had a great deal more freedom now that he was a legal adult in the Wizarding world, though he was sure that his Uncle Vernon didn't know that. Harry had to admit fantasizing for the last few years about what he would do when he could legally use magic, and now that it had came ... after Cedric's death, revenge on his relatives just didn't register as important.

Dudley emerged from the train shortly after it came to a stop. It was obvious that he hadn't decided to dress up. In fact it looked like he'd been working out right before he got on the train. His T-shirt was sweat stained, and he wore jeans instead of the maroon Smeltings uniform. Around his neck was a towel, and a ribbon with a gold medal hanging from it. It looked like Dudley had been wearing the ribbon for quite some time. He was towing a large suit case, about a third the size of Harry's trunk.

"Hi Dad, are we still waiting for the freak?" Dudley asked. "Mum said she was going to make custard tarts tonight, and I'm looking forward to it."

"She's making custard tarts?" Harry said. "I hope you leave me some of it for at least a taste, Dud."

"Harry?" Dudley said, his eyes finally focusing on his cousin. Harry could tell that his attire had caused his cousin to totally discount the possibility that Harry had arrived. "What are you dressed up for."

"Some of the girls in my class got a hold of me on the train," Harry said, with a shrug. "How far away is the Volvo parked, uncle?"

"Only two blocks, boys," Uncle Vernon said. "I got a good spot this time. Should be able to pull right out."

...

Pansy sat on the balcony that her new room shared with Draco's, looking out at the evening sun in the formal gardens. A cup of tea sat on the wrought iron table next to her, a blend that was new to her, but did wonders to wash out the taste of the potions that the healer had given her once she had arrived with Draco from Platform Nine and Three Quarters.

Her father had made a big scene there, even more so once Draco had shared his portkey to Malfoy Manor with her. To be perfectly honest, Draco's announcement of what they'd done to her father probably wasn't the best thing to do, but her father's response had certainly not been the best either. If she hadn't dodged, Pansy was sure that she wouldn't be dealing with a healing left hip. Her theory that her father would have beaten her until she miscarried was pretty much confirmed.

Draco was currently confined to his room, recovering from his own injuries. According to Draco's father, Pansy's father would be lucky to get out of Saint Mungo's before the Wizengamot Session ended. Draco may have suffered from a right broken hand, left foot, and two broken ribs, but he'd gotten them honorably in defending her from her much older and stronger father. Of course, most of Pansy's father's injuries had come from Draco's father's wand work.

Pansy had not expected her Summer vacation to begin like this. She'd actually been dreading coming home. She had expected to be beaten, when her father discovered what she and Draco had done. Her only hope had been that she could get that last ingredient for the potion and use it before her father found out, and she got beat until it wasn't an issue. She hadn't believed that Draco would help her. In fact, she had thought that Draco didn't want her anymore.

She certainly hadn't expected to be wearing the ring. Pansy had to look down at it. Intertwined snakes, with very small emerald eyes holding an almost uncomfortably large for the fifteen-year-old diamond between their heads ... it was a Slyterin ring, for sure. It was also the traditional ring for the Malfoy heir to give to his wife-to-be.

Draco had been surprising her all day. The first had been when he comforted her following her leaving the compartment she'd been sharing with the other Slytherin girls. Tracy Davis was going to regret saying that Draco never really wanted her. Draco's actions today had definitely not been those of a boy who did not want Pansy. It was too bad that they couldn't top off the day with what had gotten Pansy in trouble in the first place. Her hip wouldn't allow it, unfortunately.

"Pansy." She looked up to discover that Draco had somehow managed to convince a house elf to go against the healer's orders and assist him out onto the balcony. "We need to talk."

"Draco," Pansy said concerned, as her husband-to-be winced as he sat down next to her.

"No, it's not about our relationship," Draco said, his face showing that he was still in pain. "We can talk about that all we want, later. Better yet, do something with it when we're both recovered from our injuries."

"Then what do we need to talk about?" Pansy asked. It had to be important for Draco to come out to the balcony now.

"My father is a Death Eater, and the Dark Lord is back," Draco said flatly. Pansy knew both of those facts. "Father is also engaged in other illegal activities. I'm not sure about all of them, and there isn't much I can do about them, I'm only fifteen! You're my family now, and you need to know what I know."

...

Harry Potter had actually managed to get to sit in the front seat, beside his Uncle. He wasn't entirely certain that it was a good thing, but Dudley had practically pushed him to the seat, after Uncle Vernon had commented about Dudley's fragrance. Harry wished he had taken advantage of his ability to use magic to cast an air freshening charm. His uncle would have exploded if he did, so perhaps it was a good thing that he couldn't remember one.

It was the first time that he had been able to see Little Whinging through the front windshield, instead of a side window. The seat itself was a lot different. It was quite comfortable, even though he hadn't adjusted it from Aunt Petunia's settings. Aunt Petunia was thin, not an overweight walrus like his uncle, much closer to Harry's build. On his lap was his brief case. On the way from London, he'd popped it up briefly so he could look at a few documents that Neville and Ocie had fostered off on him. This Wizengamot thing was going to be a lot of work, he could tell already, at least if he wanted to do it right.

The Volvo turned on to Privet Drive, and Harry spotted the old Model A Delivery that the Headmaster had mentioned. "Evans' Family Garden Service," Harry read, as Uncle Vernon paused to let out the car from number three. "Related to Aunt Petunia?"

"It looks like Pet's grandfather's old van," Uncle Vernon said. "I think the gardening gene comes down from that part of the family. It certainly doesn't come from my side of the family."

"If you say so, Uncle Vernon," Harry said, then suddenly realizing that the statement wasn't the most politic he could make, added, "You're the one that found the right stuff for the rose bushes, though."

"I just did what I remembered Mr. Evans doing," Uncle Vernon said. Harry could tell that his uncle was regretting letting that car back out in front of him. "I worked for him a couple summers. It was good honest work, and how I met Pet." He finally was able to pull into the driveway, and directly into the open garage.

Harry got out, and decided to help his cousin get his trunk out of the boot. If he hadn't, he might have seen his uncle's first encounter with Albus Dumbledore in a decade. Instead, he just heard it.

"What are you doing to my yard, you ..." Uncle Vernon's voice was immediately cut off, as if a silence spell had been cast.

Harry and Dudley both ran out of the garage, finding Uncle Vernon standing before Albus Dumbledore, seemingly petrified in place, his mouth moving with no sound coming out. Dumbledore was standing on the front lawn, seemingly unconcerned, as he ran string between some stakes. "I'm starting to build your wife's front water garden," he said. "Harry, there is a detector with a spray can assembly in the back of my van. We need to mark the water, gas, and sewage lines before we start to dig, and I've never quite been able to trust the local authorities since the gas line blew in Godric's Hollow back in '72."

As Harry headed to the back of the van, he had no trouble hearing Dumbledore continue. In fact, Harry figured that no one on Privet Drive would have had trouble hearing. "Vernon Dursley, I am responsible for the grounds of Harry's school, along with Rubeus Hagrid. You may remember Hagrid. I've heard that he quite often reminds people not to insult me in front of him. He is good friends with your nephew, and through him, I've learnt quite a bit about Harry

"It seems the more I learn about your particular treatment of Harry, the more I wished that death by torture had not been removed from the books. It is fortunate that his aunt at least shows some remorse for her behavior. It would behoove yourself to think long and hard in that direction. We will be having a long talk this evening."

"Why are you doing the garden?" Harry asked, retrieving the device. He hoped to at least listen in on that talk. He imagined that it would be quite fascinating. "You've never been around before."

"You might call it penance, Harry," Dumbledore replied, "and a little bit of tribute. You see, this garden was in the main designed by two little girls, attempting to get their grandfather to build it in their front yard. Their mother was a bit against it. I found the plans after I bought the van at the grandfather's estate sale at the unknowing suggestion of a then fourth year youngest of those two little girls, your mother. She didn't want to see everything go to where she would never see it again."

"I last saw this van the last time I saw your mother," the soft voice coming from Aunt Petunia was totally unexpected. Somehow she'd passed Harry and was looking at the van. Her hand was on its side, just above the rear wheel well on the driver's side. "She said she'd borrowed it from the new owner. She had about a month to go with you, and I'd just had Dudley. I'd been hoping for a girl, and Lily chided me about it. I wanted a girl, still do." Petunia looked at her silent and petrified husband. "Vernon, stop fuming, you know it's not good for you, and I don't think that the Chief Warlock is going to give you the satisfaction of yelling at him."

Harry nearly dropped at his Aunt Petunia's comments, especially when he saw his uncle take a deep breath, and the redness start to drain out of his face. Then Dudley caused him to trip. "Yea, Dad, it's not good for you. Mum, my coach has given me a menu plan. I need to lose weight and keep up my exercise this summer. Dad, maybe you could join me in my five am run."

As Harry stumbled, he felt like his word had once again been jolted into another. Dudley running, getting up at five, mister sleep until noon every morning last summer? Aunt Petunia speaking softly, and admonishing Uncle Vernon about his temper. People got out of the way when Vernon Dursley was mad. That was a lesson that Harry Potter had learnt early.

"You don't want to have another heart attack, Vernon," Aunt Petunia said softly, as Uncle Vernon's body relaxed. Harry noticed his headmaster moving his finger in the finite incantatem pattern. Aunt Petunia kissed him, her hand grasping his tie. "Now, let's go inside were we can discuss my new front garden."

As Aunt Petunia guided Uncle Vernon indoors, Dudley said. "Harry, I don't think I'm going to want to take my trunk up to my room for a while. Mister Warlock, do you need any help?"


	3. Requiem

_Author's Note:_

_All Latin in this chapter comes from the Catholic Church's Pre-Vatican II Requiem Mass. There are several web pages with side by side translation. Translation is not deemed necessary for the causal reader, however it may provide additional depth to the story for those wishing to look more deeply. _

* * *

Chapter Three: Requiem

The morning of Cedric's funeral, Harry was woke up by the sound of Dudley tripping over something, followed by a bit of cursing. Harry knew that there was no way he was going to get back to sleep, so he got up, pulled on a pair of boxers and t-shirt. As he trudged down the stairs, he caught sight of the grandfather clock. Five minutes past five, was way too early, but Harry was used to rising early. Well, not quite so early, but he could live with it.

It was too early to start breakfast, and to be honest, Harry had eaten too many of his Aunt Petunia's custard tarts the night before, and wasn't very hungry, yet. So he stepped out front, to discover Dudley stretching. "Morning Harry," Dudley said.

"I didn't expect to see you up this morning, Dudley," Harry said. "You've always been late to bed, late to rise."

"I know, but my boxing coach wouldn't let me do that, and I kind of got into the habit, you know," Dudley replied as he stretched. Harry decided to stretch a bit himself, and copied Dudley. "I think my coach is a little insane actually, but since he started having me run every morning, well, I feel a lot better. Not to say I still complain when he wakes me up and makes me go jogging in the pouring rain."

"Just rain?" Harry replied. "He's not nothing on my Quidditch Captain. Oliver once made us practice in an ice storm. Though, I admit it was helpful during the Hufflepuff game, my third year. My broom nearly was an icicle by the time the game was over."

"Care to join me in my run?" Dudley asked. "I don't really like to run alone, and you can tell me about this Quiddditch game."

"I don't know, Dudley," Harry said. "I don't run a lot."

"You kept out of my range before we went away from school." Dudley replied, still stretching.

"Yes, but that was four years ago," Harry said. "But as long as you don't run for miles, I guess I can try it."

"Good, I'm only going a mile this morning," Dudley said, as he turned towards the street. "Now how is this Quidditch game played, on brooms?"

* * *

Harry Potter stood at the door of Number Four in a black three piece suit. He adjusted his tie. Parvati had made it a bit tight when she had arrived with the suit. He'd spent the last hour and a half preparing himself to her standards. As she was one of the fashion gurus of Gryffindor, Harry supposed he should be glad that she'd come to help. Parvati and her twin sister would not be attending the funeral, but Harry had been requested, and he was now waiting for his ride.

As the clock struck nine, a rather distinctive car pulled up to the curb of Number Four. A sleek sliver Austin Martin DB5 with Harry's white haired headmaster at the wheel stopped right at the end of the walk. There was a twinkle in Albus Dumbledore's eyes as he called out, "Harry, need a ride?"

"Yes sir!" Harry called out, stepping off the stoop. "Where did you get the car?"

"Oh, I bought it from your Grandfather, before you were born," Dumbledore replied, carefully modulating his voice so it would carry just far enough so that Mrs. Number Six would hear. "I thought I'd take the new car out for a ride."

"If this is your new car, what was the old one?" Harry asked as he sat down in the passenger's seat.

"The muggle government gave me a Silver Dawn in '49. I do not find it anywhere near as fun to drive as my DB5. I hope you don't mind, but I think we'll put the top down once we get on the M4."

"Ah, Professor, this isn't a convertible."

"And most DB5s don't come equipped with wizarding wireless. Wireless two, if you will, Harry. There is a work by Monty Norman that my friend Alan has promised to sneak into the schedule in a few minutes."

Dumbledore pulled out his wand and tapped the roof. It changed into a convertible's roof, and slid back into the retracted position. As they pulled away from Little Whinging, heading towards the M4, music began to play. The first tune was very forgettable, but the second ...

Harry looked over at the Headmaster. "You decide to take you DB5 out, and arrange for the wireless to play the Bond Theme," Harry said, as he noticed the Headmaster humming along.

"Of course," Dumbledore replied. "There are just some connections that have to be named, and I have found the Bond films to be a most agreeable distraction. Some of them have at times provided me with intriguing thoughts on title alone."

"Like _You Only Live Twice_ and Voldermot," Harry immediately connected.

"Indeed. Though it was _The Spy that Loved Me_, that first gave me the connection. It was also my sole attempt at introducing muggle movies to Hogwarts. I understand that there is a new one coming out soon ... perhaps I should make another attempt. It would be a good reminder."

"Good Reminder, sir?"

"Harry, I may profess it, indeed I try to follow the maxim that everyone can change and is worthy of a second chance," Dumbledore said. "It an important belief that I try to follow. However, at some point, redemption is no longer possible. And at some point, death is most unfortunately the only option. Before Voldermot's last fall, that point was met, and the Wizengamot gave some of the Auror's a ... if will pardon the stolen term ... a license to kill.

"It is not an easy decision, one of the most difficult ones that the Wizengamot has made in my time. It is not an easy decision, nor should it be, for any Auror, any wizard, to use that license. Unfortunately, I believe that both of those decisions will be yours to make, all too soon. In the Wizengamot, it shall be a decision on who to let live and let die. For you personally, when you face Voldermot for the last time, it will be much more difficult. Taking a life is a profoundly changing experience. It should not be easy. I do not think it will be for you.

"The action may be simple, but I have grown to know you, Harry. You are not one to take responsibly lightly. It shows itself in many ways, I shall not be surprised if the death of Cedric feels like a leaden weight on your heart."

The words hit Harry, suddenly reminding him that the they were on the M4 for one purpose, and only one purpose. They were going to Cedric's funeral. A leaden weight it was. "I shouldn't have told Cedric to take it."

"The cup? In hindsight, that may seem like the right course of action, Harry. We do not live in hindsight. It was an honorable decision, and the right decision, based on what you knew at the time. Even Professor Trelawney did not foresee the course of events at the end of the Triwizard Cup. If a seer with multiple confirmed prophecies to her credit did not see it, how can you?"

"I still feel guilty about it," Harry replied. Even as he said it, though, the guilt seemed to lessen a bit. As he looked out at the passing countryside, the opening horns of the Live and Let Die theme started. Today was a day of grief, though. He knew the feelings would not die today, not even with the thrill of riding in a DB5 with the top down. Though, it would be a shame not to enjoy the ride, just a little bit.

* * *

Draco Malfoy somehow managed to get in line with his Pansy to enter the Pavilion that had been placed over the Diggroy graveyard, right behind Harry Potter. Draco had actually departed for the funeral without a word to his parents. He hadn't even left a letter behind to explain it. What he'd discovered late last night had made him decide that he wasn't speaking to his father again.

As was tradition, everyone entered in couples, save the widow. Not that Cho was really a widow, but in all practical manners she was. While they had been waiting, in the slight drizzle, he'd overheard that her parents had disowned her. Draco wasn't surprised to hear that. He was surprised that the general tone of those spreading that news was one of disapproval towards Cho's parents. It had gotten out that Cho was due to have Cedric's baby in the Fall.

Harry Potter appeared to be escorting Luna Lovegood. Ahead of him was Ron Weasley and, Draco flinched as he recalled the reaction she'd had to her using the term that was on the tip of his thoughts, Hermione Granger. Draco thought the Weasel was surprisingly well dressed, before he recalled the picture that had been on the front page of the Prophet. It was obvious that the outfit he was wearing now was the same, now that he looked closer through the gap between Potter and Loony.

Behind him was Neville Longbottom and the Weaselette. Draco would have to talk to Longbottom. Potter would be better, but somehow he didn't think Potter would listen. Draco knew he had only himself to blame for that. In fact there was a good chance that Longbottom wouldn't speak to him either.

Draco shook his head. It wouldn't do to show his frustration with where his life had led him thus far. It was not the place. This was a place where he could show just a bit how he was trying to change. He could not afford to be the stuck up pureblood prince that he had lived his life as so far anymore. He had Pansy and their baby on the way. He had a Death Eater as a father, a father who had spent most of the last decade involved in some very shady affairs, one of which he was sure was going to break wide open in the Prophet with the next week.

"Mr. Malfoy, if you and your partner would follow me, along with Mr. Potter and his partner?" It took a bit for Draco to realize that it was him that was being requested. He looked up at the man. It appeared to be a priest, judging by the roman collar. "Miss Cho would like you both to follow her and the pallbearers in placing a handful of dirt on the lowered coffin, so we need you to sit a bit further forward than you entered. Assuming, of course, that you accept the honor?"

Draco nodded. Since the hour he had spent standing guard over Cedric in the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts, Draco had felt a lot more a part of Hogwarts. He knew that he was receiving the honor only because he had flown against Cedric as Seeker of the Sytherin Quidditch team, there were not many activities where Sytherins got any such honor, or participated in such a way. After standing guard that hour with Potter, Chang, and Krum, he'd begun to question that. Draco wished he had been able to convince his team to extend the honor and take a shift, but they had not. They were too afraid.

Not that Draco wasn't afraid of the Dark Lord. He was. When he'd flown with the other Quidditch Seekers, he'd justified it as camouflage for his allegiance. He wasn't sure it was anymore. Somehow standing there with Cedric's body ... it made it real. Until then, it had all been like some sort of a game. Slyterins hate Gryffindors, purebloods vs muggle-borns, good vs evil ... not any more. Draco was going to be a father. He had to grow up now.

_Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine,_  
_et lux perpetua luceat eis._  
_Te decet hymnus Deus, in Sion,_  
_et tibi reddetur votum in Ierusalem._  
_Exaudi orationem meam;_  
_ad te omnis caro veniet._  
_Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine,_  
_et lux perpetua luceat eis._

Only a few words of the funeral penetrate Draco's musing. Somehow, here in these long rows of folding chairs, with the drone of the Funeral Mass as the background, Draco found himself considering what might happen. The Wizarding World would be at war, soon, he was sure. His father was clearly on the Dark Lord's side. He knew what the Dark Lord did during the last war. His father had kept a book of clippings of the Prophet. They were all of the acts that his father had been a part of, Draco believed. His father hadn't told him that, but he knew that only about a third of the acts of the Death Eaters that had been published were in that book.

_Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine :_  
_et lux perpetua luceat eis._  
_In memoria æterna erit iustus,_  
_ab auditione mala non timebit._

He feared his father. He knew what his father had done. He'd seen the pictures in those clippings. He'd seen the burning houses. He'd read of the state of the bodies. He'd heard about the way women, children, even babies were killed. And just because they were in the way of, or even just been there, when the Dark Lord had decreed their destruction. Draco had never been that brave. Potter had been brave. It was the providence of divine fools like the Gryffindors.

_Dies iræ! dies illa_  
_Solvet sæclum in favilla:_  
_Teste David cum Sibylla!_

Draco had never been brave. Bravery was not something that Slytherins were. Gryffindors were brave. Slytherins were cunning and ambitious. But Draco could not afford to be cunning and ambitious right now. To do so now, as the Dark Lord rose, was death.

_Quid sum miser tunc dicturus?_  
_Quem patronum rogaturus,_  
_Cum vix iustus sit securus?_

He needed help. He needed somewhere to turn. He was Draco Malfoy, father to be, and it scared him. The world scared him now. Was there no were to turn? Did he only have the path of serving the Dark Lord? Was there only the path of despair?

_Confutatis maledictis,_  
_Flammis acribus addictis:_  
_Voca me cum benedictis._

Could he not find a path to avoid the terror that was the returned reign of the Dark Lord? Was it possible that he could escape being a Death Eater himself?

_Lacrimosa dies illa,_  
_Qua resurget ex favilla_  
_Judicandus homo reus._  
_Huic ergo parce, Deus:_

Draco turned to Pansy, and pulled her close. She was his rock, his light shining in the darkness. In her was his future. He could not stand without her, and without her, he saw no way out. Inside her was his heir, hopefully the first of many. He did not want his child to grow up alone, with out siblings, without parents. To his right were the Weasleys. He'd often insulted them, but he'd been jealous of them. He could admit it now to himself, at least.

_Hostias et preces tibi, Domine,_  
_laudis offerimus;_  
_tu suscipe pro animabus illis,_  
_quarum hodie memoriam facimus._  
_Fac eas, Domine, de morte transire ad vitam._  
_Quam olim Abrahæ promisisti et semini eius._

There were not many pureblood families left. The Dark Lord had taken out way too many. Before the Dark Lord's time, all six of the Weasley boys probably could have found pureblood wives. None of them probably would. Draco knew that Percy would probably be marrying that muggleborn Head Girl, Clearwater. Rumors had it that the Weasley Twins were after two of the Gryffindor Chasers, neither of whom were pureblooded enough for a line with their record. Not that it meant much to them. Draco once cared about such things. Now it seemed to be so inconsequential.

_Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, dona eis requiem,_  
_Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, dona eis requiem,_  
_Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, dona eis requiem sempiternam._

Draco wished he could rest, let someone else keep him out of the disaster that his father had lead his house into. He could not. The stakes were too high.

_Libera me, Domine, de morte æterna, in die illa tremenda:_  
_Quando cœli movendi sunt et terra._  
_Dum veneris iudicare sæculum per ignem._  
_Tremens factus sum ego, et timeo, dum discussio venerit, atque ventura ira._

Draco knew judgement was near. It could not be otherwise. Too many things had gone wrong. At the beginning of the year, he'd though that the old ways, the Dark Lord's ways were rising. No longer. In three short days, Harry Potter had turned that around. The Dark Lord feared Harry Potter. Draco could find no other reason explaining his father's behavior since the return of the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord hid, where Potter was about to very publically take charge, if Draco read the signs right.

_In paradisum deducant te Angeli:_  
_in tuo adventu suscipiant te Martyres,_  
_et perducant te in civitatem sanctam Ierusalem._  
_Chorus Angelorum te suscipiat,_  
_et cum Lazaro quondam paupere æternam habeas requiem._


	4. Royal

**Chapter Four**

"Hear ye, hear ye, hear ye, the Wizengamot stands ready to open on this the hundred forty-fifth day of the forty-third year on the reign of her majesty, Queen Elizabeth, the second of that name to reign over the British Isles, Defender of Faith, Lord of all that is Magical. Chief Warlock Albus Dumbledore presiding at the pleasure and the sufferance of her majesty."

The sentry stuck his staff thrice at the East Threshold, before turning to face inward. Harry stood with the other three new members at that threshold, waiting.

"Lords and Ladies, Witches and Wizards, I await the pleasure of her Majesty, for it is at her sufferance we exist," Dumbledore intoned from his seat at the head of the chamber.

At the South threshold, another sentry announced. "All rise for the representative of her Majesty Elizabeth the Second, by grace of God, of Great Britain, Ireland, and the Dominions Beyond the Seas Queen, Defender of Faith, Lord of all that is Magical." The sentinel pounded his staff three times before continuing as a figure in a hooded robe entered the hall. As the figure stepped over the threshold, the hood dropped. "His Royal Highness The Prince Andrew Albert Christian Edward, Duke of York, Earl of Inverness, Baron Killyleagh, Commander of the Royal Victorian Order."

Harry watched as the Duke of York, in resplendent navy blue robes strode down the center aisle of the Wizengamot. He had noticed that the sleeves of the robe had two medium gold stripes with a single thin gold strip running between them. He wondered how many of the wizards would have realized which royal it was just by that clue. The Duke took the stairs to the dais two at a time, before taking the seat to the right of Dumbledore's. It was actually a step upwards.

"Be seated," the Duke ordered. The members of the Wizengamot took their seats. As soon the sounds of the chairs being pushed back stopped echoing, he spoke again. "This session now stands open on the orders of her Majesty, the Queen. All here in serve at the pleasure of my majestic mother, the Queen. May you serve wisely and give her no cause to withdraw her charge. Chief Warlock, I understand that we have new three members today, and one seat remains unfilled, to take their oaths."

"We do. One hereditary member, one merit member, and one proxy for a member too young to serve await at the threshold. Most regrettably, her Majesty's hereditary member from Devonshire has departed from this earth with no recognized heir of the body, nor any living relative within three generations. They have been summoned to the threshold, so you may do your duty for your majestic mother, the Queen." Dumbledore passed the list over to the Duke.

"Harry Potter, merit member serving the County of Surrey, enter and approach to give your oath."

Harry had not expected to be first. Generally the hereditary member was called first, but Dumbledore had told him that was the Royal's choice. He knew that this was the first time the Duke had played this role. He'd been expecting it to be the Princess Royal. The sentry escorted him to the well of the chamber, announcing, "Your Grace, I present to you the member from Surrey, nominated and approved by this body on merit, Harry James Potter."

"Mister Potter, you stand before us, young, but of age," the Duke began. "You were chosen when you were but a babe, yet you stand before us, young but a man tested in battle none the less. Her Majesty has accepted you as one of her loyal Wizards, to serve her magical people in Surrey and in these isles. Raise your wand, and swear your oath."

Harry raised his wand and read the oath, carved into the side of the secretary's table under the presider's podium. "I, Harry James Potter, swear by my magic that I will be faithful and bear true allegiance to her Majesty Queen Elizabeth, her heirs and successors, by law and by magic, So mote it be."

"We accept your oath," the Duke said. "Take your seat, and know that all this chamber and her Majesty holds you to your duty. Roderick Danegeld, son of Edwin who served as the member from the County of Yorkshire, as did his father, and his father before him, enter and approach to give your oath."

Harry missed the oath, as it took him a while to find his seat. It was not in the back like he expected, but in the second row, next to Madam Longbottom.

"... Sapphire Eagleton, newly nominated proxy for Ophelia Campbell, the Durbarton, approach and give your oath."

"I, Sapphire Eagleton, stand in proxy for Ophelia Campbell. I serve in her stead and at her pleasure, and I swear by my magic that I will be faithful and bear true allegiance to her Majesty Queen Elizabeth, her heirs and successors, by law and by magic, So mote it be."

"Take your seat, Miss Eagleton. Lords and Ladies, Witches and Wizards, you are here before us, short one of the forty-nine seats, as Bartemius Crouch, the member from Devon, has died without a recognized heir. Her Majesty wishes that this seat not be left open. In accordance with her wishes, I call Amos Diggory, father of Cedric who so recently lost his life, a member of your Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creature, to stand before us and take his oath."

A mummer went through the crowd gathered in the gallery, as well as among the members. The monarch had not been this active in over a century. Harry heard a man behind him mutter, "not done."

A bell toiled, as a sentry left to seek Amos Diggory.

"As we await the arrival of Amos Diggory, I have a message for you all from her Majesty, one we trust we shall have no need of giving to Mr. Diggory," the Duke said. "Her Majesty is aware of the return of the terrorist known as Lord Voldemort, born Tom Mavolo Riddle. She hath declared his life forfeit in this realm. Should any of the members of this chamber support him, they shall be considered to have broken their oath before her and this body, and forever they shall be without home in this land. So says her Majesty."

"So mote it be!" some of the members, Harry among them, replied.

* * *

It was tradition for the Royal to stay in the antechamber during the remainder of the First Day of a Wizengamot Session. It was started due to late arriving new members, but the tradition held. So, as soon as the Duke left the chamber, Draco Malfoy left the Heir's gallery, where he and Pansy had been uncomfortably seated between Longbottom and Campbell. He knew this was his only chance, the only way he could see that he could get himself and Pansy out of this.

As he approached the special entrance to the antechamber for the Heir's gallery, he noticed that the hooded figure standing at the inner door was a lot shorter than the one he'd seen the last time. It definitely wasn't Peter. He'd hoped it was, because he knew that he wouldn't have to use the formal lines that he always fumbled to ask see the Royal. It wasn't the first time he'd seen the Royal, but it was the first time that he'd tried to see the Duke of York.

It was tradition for the heirs to at some point sneak down and see the Royal. With the younger ones, it usually resulted in receiving some sort of muggle candy. Draco had been particularly enamored of the creame eggs, which were for some reason only available in spring sessions. He knew from his father in better days, that it was expected that the young heirs do so.

"Royal guard, I come to see his grace on a matter of some urgence, a matter of state. I am Draco, son and heir to the seat of Wiltshire."

The hooded figure turned and knocked on the door. "It is Draco of Wiltshire on a matter of urgency state."

Draco smiled, as the hood of the guard slid back a bit, reveling reddish hair on the boy, who was not quiet of Hogwarts age. Draco had managed to get it right, but the boy had not.

"Bid him no hindrance," the Duke said from with. The boy royal opened the door, and Draco strode through it.

The Duke of York was seated in the usual wing-backed chair, with what his father had told him was an ash tray stand next to him. It was filled, as had been in his childhood, with candy. It looked like the Duke had chosen to stock it with more fruit candy than the chocolate that the Princess Royal tended to. The pair of ottomans provided for the child heirs of Wizengamot members flanked the chair. A pair of other chairs, wooden, were to the Duke's right, and a bench directly in front of him.

"Draco, be seated," the Duke said, his hand gesturing at the bench. Draco took his seat. "What matters bring you to the antechamber?"

"Your grace, I feel I must inform you that my father has betrayed his Queen, his country, and his oath to this assembly," Draco said. "He is an active Death Eater, and came to the Dark Lord's side on the eve of his rebirth. I have seen proof, and offer witnesses to his behavior in the part of the Honorable Member from Surrey's testimony."

The Duke stood up, and strode over to the door to the Wizengamot Chamber. He opened it, and whispered to the short, but taller than the other, hooded guard on the other side. Through the open door, Draco watched as the guard headed over to the desk of the member from Surrey and then return with Potter following.

"Your grace, the honorable member from Surrey," the guard said.

"Thank you Wills," the Duke said. "I think I need you to stay." The guard closed the door behind him. "Mister Potter, please be seated next to Mister Malfoy." There was a brief pause before the Duke spoke again.

"Mister Potter, Mister Malfoy contends that you, as a unwilling witness and participant inTom Mavolo Riddle's rebirth, witnessed his father's return to the side of Riddle, as one of his Death Eaters."

"I have," Potter answered firmly. Draco envied that firm response. He was barely able to stop the trembling of his hands. "I witnessed nine Death Eaters come to his side."

"Are you willing, under oath and with Royal Protection, to testify to those names?"

"I am."

"I shall require those names, before we return to the Wizengamot," the Duke said.

"Crabbe, Goyle, Walden Macnair, Lucius Malfoy, Nott, Peter Pettigrew," Potter said. "Unfortunately, those are the only names I know of the nine."

"We shall find out the rest," the Duke said. "Are their additional charges that you wish to add to your father's, Draco?"

"Yes, he is currently in possession of several muggle females, kept captive beneath Malfoy Manor," Draco said, unable to stop his hands from trembling now. "He is deliberately sabotaging the Pride of Portree Quidditch team in order to manipulate the betting market, and as of this morning, he is harboring the Dark Lord in his manor."

"This is way above me," the Duke said, reaching for a device on a table nearby. He did something with it's base, as he picked up and placed the other part next to his ear. "This is the Duke of York, your majesty."

"Yes mum, I know mum. I'll talk to my little bumblebee when I get home. We have a problem. At least three, I think. No, I don't think it's required, but if you really want to send him, I won't object to it. All three of us? Good. Thank you, your majesty. Yes mum."

Draco had no idea why the Duke was talking into the device, but it was obvious that he was speaking to someone, and it didn't take a genius to figure out who. It had to be some muggle version of the flue, he figured. As he sat there, he noticed that the guard had put down his hood, and was picking through the candy. With a series of head motions, the guard confirmed that both Draco and Potter would like a piece, and tossed them a golden piece of hard fruit candy. Being both Seekers, they easily caught it.

The Duke having restored the device back to the way it had been, returned to his seat, but did not sit down. "Your father messed with my Quidditch Team?" the Duke said. "All the preseason reports said that I was finally going to support a team that would beat Edward's. Charles is never going to win the family pot, though. For some reason he likes Chuddley."

"My friend Ron supports them too," Potter said. "Can't quite say why, either."

There was a sudden crack, and two figures appeared right behind the Duke. The duke jumped a bit at the sound. "Edward, you've got to stop doing that."

"Charles put me up to it," the younger of the two said. "Peter and Zara are on their way, through the muggle entrance." He wore a black robe only marked by the Tudor rose.

The other's black robes were differenced by four medium gold bands, and a badge with three feathers rising through a crown. "I'm not briefed yet..."

"Spent too much time getting Edward to arrive behind me."

"Andrew. I know we're going to sit in judgement, but why?"

"At least three charged with treason are in that chamber, among other things," the Duke said. "This is Draco Malfoy, who brought his own father's misdeeds to our attention, and the Honorable Member from Surrey, Harry Potter, who witnessed Tom Mavolo Riddle's return."

"I read the Prophet," the older man said. "Mister Potter, your country stands in your debt."

"Thank you, your Highness," Potter said, bowing.

"Edward, can you charm these black?" the Duke asked. "I should have taken your advice on color." The younger man pulled out his wand and made the Duke's robes black. Meanwhile, the older man, who Draco now knew had to be a prince of some sort, opened the inner door, and pulled the other guard in. Minutes later, two other hooded guards arrived, one of which Draco immediately identified as Peter.

The oldest took charge as soon as they arrived, addressing the guards. "Wills, you will go ring the bell, then stand in the center of the chamber, while the rest of you bar the chamber doors. Here is your cue card, you'll need it. Try not to look at it too much.

"Mister Potter, return to the chamber, and stop by Madame Bones, and tell her just one word, trial. Mister Malfoy, I shall need you to come with us. Enter and behind us, and then take a seat at the pages bench. Try not to draw attention to yourself. Hoods up, everyone. It's time."

The four guards entered the chamber from the antechamber door, three of them immediately heading for the East, South, and West doors. The fourth headed for the large bell installed at the base of the throne, no longer hidden. The doors slammed shut and the bars slid home, almost as if by one hand. Then the bell tolled, the bell that only rang when the Wizengamot stood witness to the charging and trial of one of it's own.

As it rang, the three royals in black robes, their identities once again concealed beneath their hoods, entered. Their steps were slow and measured, the work of their training. You could almost hear the cry of left right left in between the toiling of the bell.

Draco found a place on the pages bench, in between two Hufflepuff third years. He placed his finger on his lips, to indicate his silence, only now noticing that his own robes had been charmed to match that of the pages.

The guard the eldest royal had called Wills faced the Chief Warlock, the Royals standing behind him, and announced. "Chief Warlock, I come before you as the herald of judgement. Behind me stands the three judges royal. Yield your gavel, and take your place among your peers to witness the judgement of your Queen."

"Noble herald, I bear no hindrance," Dumbledore said in the silence of the chamber, before descending to the well of the chamber and presenting the gavel to the middle of the royals, the one with the feathered badge. He took it.

The royals then moved up to take the seats on the level where Dumbledore had been seated, the eldest taking the seat where the Duke had been.

"Guards and Pages, escort the accused members to the well of the chamber, where their new seats await. Royal herald, read the names and charges."

Three chairs, manacles waiting, rose from the floor, as the three other guards headed over to the pages to pick up partners. Peter picked Draco, and he immediately started dreading the next few minutes. Peter noticed. "Don't worry, Draco," Peter whispered. "Uncle Edward has the charm on you. Bloody brilliant wizard he is."

"Lucius Malfoy of Wiltshire," the herald began. The youngest guard headed towards Draco's father's seat. "You are charged as an active Death Eater, with murder, terrorism, rape, kidnaping, harboring fugitives from the law, lying before a court of her Majesty's, with the use of curses, unforgivable and cruel. You shall answer these charges under truth serum, for this court of her majesty's own shall not accept otherwise."

The next youngest guard, whom Draco was sure was a girl, headed out for the next. "Walden Macnair of Fife, you stand charged as an active Death Eater, with murder, terrorism, rape, and kidnapping. Your further stand charged of lying before a court of her Majesty's, with the use of curses unforgivable, with the use of a deadly mundane weapon in the course of these crimes. You shall answer these charges under truth serum, for this court of her majesty's own shall not accept otherwise."

Finally, Draco accompanied Peter as the last member charged was announced. "Gregory Goyle the Fifth of Durham, you stand charged as an active Death Eater, with murder, terrorism, kidnapping, and rape. You further stand charged of lying before a court of her Majesty's, with the uses of curses unforgivable. You shall answer these charges under truth serum, for this court of her majesty's own shall not accept otherwise."

Draco escorted the father of one of his loyal followers in Slytherin to the well, and assisted Peter in securing him in his place. Then they both stepped back, and Draco followed the other pages back to their bench.

Then the youngest of the royals sitting in judgement said, "Amelia Bones, honorable member from Kent, and head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, I ask that you go with our herald and his brother to obtain the veritaserum from the Antechamber, then assist in the distribution of the drops."

The room remained in stark silence as the veritaserum was retrieved. Draco kept his eyes away from his father. Instead his eyes somehow caught Potter's. At first he was not sure what Potter's answering expression was. He'd never quite seen it directed towards him. After a couple minutes, he realized what it was, and why he'd never seen it directed towards him before. It was an expression of respect.

"Administer the drops, two of them, as this is the Phillips formulation," the Duke ordered. Draco watched as two drops were placed on his father's tongue. "Malfoy of Whitshire, you shall now answer the charges with your pleas as the herald reads them again."

"Multiple counts of murder..."

"Guilty"

"Terrorism"

"Guilty."

"Multiple counts of rape."

"Guilty."

"Multiple counts of kidnaping"

"Guilty."

"Harboring fugitives from the law, notably Tom Mavolo Riddle at your manor."

"Guilty."

"Lying before a court of her Majesty's during a previous trial as a Death Eater."

"Guilty."

"The use of unforgivable curses, in all three types."

"Guilty."

"The use of curses cruel in the operation of a sports enterprise, namely that of the Pride of Portree Quidditch Team."

"Guilty."

"The prisoner has answered all the charges, your Highness," the herald concluded.

The eldest of the royal judges replied. "You have answered the charges we have given you, in response to what the honorable member from Surrey, and your own son have made us aware of. Your guilt is admitted, but we must know how deep your guilt is. Explain your guilt in each of these charges."

For the next two hours, Draco listened to the depravities of his father. He heard how his father tortured his victims to their death, how his father had, even during the time of the Dark Lord's vanquishment kept muggle girls to rape beneath Malfoy Manor. He heard how his father used the unforgivable curses on them, and even on his fellow Death Eaters in service of his master. He heard how his father had bribed the judge who had tried him for being a Death Eater, holding the judge's daughter at the manor, returning her without her virtue.

Many of the members of the Wizengamot were visibly sick at his father's testimony. Draco got through an hour before he lost his last meal. Somehow, Potter kept his expression flat, even when it was revealed that his own mother's dead body had been desecrated by Lucius Malfoy.

Draco did not want to be related to his father, anymore. He did not want to be like his father. His father was devoid of all that was right and good. There was no punishment that Draco knew that would be too harsh.

"Enough!" the eldest judge said, after looking at notes handed to him by the other royal judges. "Administer the antidote. Gathered Wizengamot, have we not heard enough to judge his punishment? Does anyone here believe we need to hear more?"

There was silence.

"Then hear us, Lucius Malfoy, gathered Wizengamot, this court has reached it's judgement. We accept your guilty plea on all counts. You shall be taken from this place, to the Tower of London. There in you shall be questioned further, before serving your sentence. Stripped of your magic, you shall be hanged by the neck until dead, then beheaded, where upon your head shall be displayed at the Traitors' Gate. Your body shall be quartered, and buried in unmarked graves near the four corners of the kingdom. Your shares in the Pride of Portree shall be forfeited to the crown. Malfoy Manor shall be burned to the ground and left for ten generations as a reminder of the penalty for treason towards her Majesty, the Queen."

"Your seat shall be given to your son, who has shown to us courage and honor. While the name Malfoy shall be cursed in this land, he and his heirs shall not be. Draco, rest assured that this court shall not leave you penniless and alone. You stand now under the personal protection of her Majesty, the Queen."

* * *

Albus Dumbledore looked longingly at the painting he'd hung in his office a long time ago. It was of a DB5 like his own on a British road. Had it only been a couple days since he had taken Harry to Cedric's funeral? It seemed like a couple weeks at the very least.

He had expected to spend the afternoon after the Wizengamot opening working on the garden of Number Four Privet Drive. The session did not end until well after dark. He had sat in his desk through it all. Dumbledore had known that Death Eaters were depraved and did much evil, but until the testimony for sentencing, he had not really known what that meant.

Testimony under veritaserum was only available under wizarding law in three cases, by the request of the witness, in cases where a prior trial had been given and new evidence had revealed lying, and by order of the Royal Family. The last two had applied for all three of the cases, and most likely would for several other trials upcoming.

Madam Bones had been allowed to leave after Malfoy's sentencing, but all the other members and those in the galleries had been confined until the last sentence was given. There were now three magical prisoners in residence of the Tower of London. He was required to witness their deaths at sunrise on Monday Morning.

He'd witnessed a portion of the questioning of Malfoy at the hands of the Royals and Madam Bones. The Prince of Wales and the Duke of York had been the primary questioners, and he'd been surprised at how much they had known about the wizarding world. It had been especially surprising when they had gotten around to exploring Malfoy's work on the Pride of Portree. It was clear that both were well versed in Quidditch lore. He was especially surprised when the Prince of Wales had stated that he had known something was up when his Cannons had been ousted from last place.

The door to his office opened revealing an obviously exhausted and recently healed Madam Bones. "Amelia," he stated. He did not know what he wanted to hear from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement Head.

"There weren't as many there as I thought there would be, Albus, but there were enough," Bones said. "I lost two Aurors, and another dozen will be out for a good amount of time. As for Tom Riddle, as the Royals call him, he and a dozen others managed to escape, but not before giving us quite a hard fight. I suspect that he made it much easier for the Royals to carry out their burn the manor to the ground order.

"On the Death Eater side, we will be burying six of them, and last I heard eight of them will require recovery before they can stand trial. We arrested a dozen and a half, including, I'm afraid three who are not yet of age. Filling that juvenile judge slot just became a priority. One of the three will be up for murder.

"Investigation of the manor is ongoing, of course, but thus far we have discovered ten muggle girls who were being used as sex slaves, as well as the remains of at least three dozen more. Judging from bodies and ... well, let's just say that I will watch with pleasure when that bastard is hung, and I may have to hold a lottery to chose which Aurors will get to see it."

"And Narcissa?"

"We found her in what appears to have been Voldemort's throne room. It will take questioning to determine the extent of her involvement, but that will have to wait a while. She has a crushed larynx, and is suffering from the results of being flung with great force into a wall. She also appears to be in shock. May I ask what has happened to Draco Malfoy?"

"Draco and his betrothed, Miss Pansy Parkinson, have both been taken to a secure location by the Duke of York," Albus said. "The Duke said he will make it available to you, and that you should contact the Princess Royal for the information." He then pulled a piece of folded parchment out of his drawer. It had a broken seal of red wax whose impression could still be read, 'E II R.' "This arrived an hour ago."

"I take that the Queen is not happy with recent events."

"The Queen is summoning Minister Fudge to Buckingham, and suggests that we put choosing his successor on our agenda for Monday. I intend to nominate you."

"Albus, I will tell you the same thing you told the Wizengamot right before they chose Fudge, I will not accept if nominated, and will not serve if elected," Bones said, before adjusting her monocle. "This is no time for me to leave my department. We can't afford to suffer through someone else learning the ropes now, at the very least!"

"Then do you have any other suggestions?"

"A few, Albus, a few."

* * *

_Author's Note:_

_This was the first bit of my vision of how the Wizengamot works. I have chosen to integrate the Royal Family more into the workings of the Wizengamot, where as the Prime Minister deals more with the Ministry of Magic. You should expect more on this in coming chapters, as Honor to Serve is focused on Harry's summer serving in the Wizengamot. _

_There are some who have indicated that I'm redeeming too many characters. Yes, I am redeeming Draco, but you should not expect any other Death Eaters, unless otherwise indicated in canon, to be redeemed. The Dursley situation will be explained more shortly. For the purposes of this story, I am not taking their behavior to the extreme sometimes implied by canon. _

_One final note, the posting of this story is dependent on the inspiration of the muse. The only reason this chapter is ready this soon, is I took a week off last week, and was inspired. One thing to note however, is that I do have a policy of delaying posting one day for every "post more soon" review, and generally will not post parts closer than a week apart. _


	5. Dahlia

**Chapter Five**

Normally, Uncle Vernon would not let Harry sleep in, so it surprised Harry when he put on his glasses to discover that it was eight minutes after ten. Harry quickly slid on his trousers and a fresh T-shirt. He hoped that he could at least get a glass of orange juice before being sent out to work on the yard.

When he entered the kitchen, Uncle Vernon was there, looking at a picture in his wallet, tears sliding down his face. On the table was the Daily Prophet, still folded, with the bottom half of the first page visible. There were two pictures on the page, one of Walden Macnair and the other of Gregory Goyle V. It didn't take long for Harry to deduce that it was the picture of Macnair that was the reason.

"Boy, you were at the trial, weren't you?" Vernon asked, causing Harry to turn with a start from where he'd been just about to reach the refrigerator. "It says you helped bring charges."

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry replied. "The whole Wizengamot was there."

"It says that you're the member from Surrey now," Vernon said. Poking the index finger of his free hand on the picture of Walden Macnair. "Does that mean you can get tickets to this bastard's execution? I want to see this bastard hung!"

"I don't know, Uncle Vernon," Harry said carefully. He'd never heard his uncle directing such venom towards someone. Even in his worst temper, there had never been such a tone of loathing with an undertone of a request for vengeance that would not be denied in his voice. If it had been directed at Harry, he was sure that he would have curled up and died. "I can ask Professor Dumbledore, he's head of the Wizengamot. Why do you want to?"

Vernon looked down at his wallet, and for the first time, Harry could see the picture. It was a baby, girl judging from the pink dress, being held by his Aunt Petunia. "Dahlia." The name came out with a sob. "She was only a month old, I only had my daughter for thirty-three days when that bastard killed her. She was just a baby, she hadn't done anyone any harm."

Harry had to sit down. He'd never seen his uncle like this, tears going down his face, as he looked at the small picture in his wallet. "We were just shopping, when that bastard came and ripped her out of Pet's arms. He said that muggles didn't deserve children, then he threw her up, and hit her with a green beam ..."

"The Killing Curse," Harry said softly.

"She was dead. My baby girl was dead," Vernon said. The last word stretched out in a wrenching sound that seemed to cry out to the heavens for justice. Then there was silence.

"Only Pet and I remember what happened," Vernon said, in an usually low tone. "Everyone else thinks it was a deranged gunman who killed my Dahlia, three other babies, and nine children. But I remembered. They didn't wipe my memories. I knew about magic because of your mother, and Petunia and I had the cards. I remembered, and that was the cruelest part of all. Everyone I knew thought the gun man had been killed, but I knew my daughter's killer had escaped. I watched him disappear, smiling like a damned Cheshire Cat, as those brown robed wizards arrived. I swore I'd make sure he came to justice."

Harry wasn't sure what to do. He wasn't Hermione, or Mrs. Weasley, who always seemed to think that hugs were good when people were in distress. Plus, if he tried to hug his uncle, he'd probably be backhanded across the room. Almost without his intervention, Harry's hand moved across the table to rest on his uncle's. "I didn't know about Dahlia."

"We don't talk about her," Vernon said. "It's still too painful for Pet, even after all these years. The few pictures we have, I've carefully hidden. Pet has hers in her bedside table. She slammed the door in my face last week when I suggested that she was having another Dahlia. I don't dare mention the name.

"She was such a pretty little baby, with wisps of blond hair, and the cutest little smile. Pet always said it was gas, but it was a smile. She was always smiling. She never cried very much, not like Dudley. She looked like an angel."

"Non Angli sed angeli," Harry said, after his uncle was silent for a bit.

Uncle Vernon looked up, wiping tears from his eyes. "That's on her grave. I always thought Pope Gregory the Great was right, at least about my girls."

"Uncle Vernon, do you think Aunt Petunia would mind if I put some dahlias around one of the angels in the new garden?" Harry offered. It was the only thing he felt he could offer himself.

"I don't think she would, Harry," Vernon said in a soft appreciative tone. Harry had never heard it directed to him from his uncle before. For years, he had told himself that he didn't need his uncle's approval. His uncle's approval didn't matter to him.

It surprised Harry when he discovered that it did matter after all.

* * *

There were ten other girls in the room with Pansy. Pansy was the only one who was really mobile. The others were victims of Lucius Malfoy rescued by Aurors and now under the protection of her Majesty, the Queen. The other girls were all in beds, most of them bandaged somehow. All of them were greatly injured, and pregnant. From the testimony of the Death Eaters before the Wizengamot, Pansy knew how they had gotten that way, and that if that scum had gotten his way, their babies would have been murdered right after birth.

Pansy didn't have to be here, in this room in Windsor Castle. She had her own room, right next to Draco's, and could have been there with Draco. Assuming of course that Draco was at Windsor at the moment. She knew that he was trying to secure some safety for her once his father was executed.

Pansy reached out and applied some salve to the bruised jaw the girl that was furthest along, getting a smile from her as the pain was eased. "I hope that's better for you, Peggy," she said.

"A bit," Peggy rasped back. Pansy knew that the muggle girl's vocal cords were raw from screaming. "Can I have some more of that juice?"

Pansy smiled, before raising the head of the bed up a bit more. She poured out another glass of pumpkin juice and handed it to the girl.

"Thanks."

Pansy moved on to the next bed. It was actually quite satisfying to help out. That wasn't why she'd started though. Pansy wanted to remember this. She wanted to burn into her mind exactly what pureblood bigotry lead to. Never again would she allow herself to forget the result of believing that one's ancestry, one's blood, was better than others. She would not forget where that led.

It had been a little after five am when the ten girls had arrived at Windsor, and it was seeing two girls in particular that had made Pansy sick. The girls had arrived via muggle conveyances called helicopters, direct from Malfoy Manor. Pansy wasn't quite sure why the girls had been taken to Windsor's makeshift hospital wing. She suspected that it might be for protective reasons. Windsor Castle had wards that made Hogwarts look like an open field.

The first girl looked a bit like Hermione Granger, a Hermione Granger beaten, broken, and at least seven months pregnant. The second ... the second could have been her in the mirror, just as beaten, just as battered, just as broken, as the Granger look-a-like. Both of them had tubes going into their arms, both of them had bandages on their heads, both of them looked like they had given up on life.

Pansy found herself putting herself in their place. She had heard Lucius Malfoy confess to abducting, raping, and beating over a hundred muggle girls from all over the world. She knew that they had been destined to be murdered, they along with the babies they bore. Her hand went down to her belly that was even now filled with the grandson of the Death Eater who had doomed them and so many others.

Before she even realized what she was doing, she had followed them in. Pansy didn't ask for permission. The old adage applied. She simply was there to offer help. When water was needed, she filled the glasses. When the doctor or nurses needed a hand, she was there. If any of her friends in Slytherin had asked if she was the type to lead a hand without any expected reward, they would have scoffed at the incongruity of the Slytherin Princess serving muggle girls.

Pansy looked at the clipboard attached to the foot of the bed. She had to remind herself of the girl's name, June, otherwise she would call her by the name of the girl of the Gryffindor Trio. "Do you need any help, June?" Pansy asked. June appeared to sink back, bending her head to hid her face behind her messy curly hair. The girl didn't speak. Pansy had not heard a single word since the girls had arrived from June. "Would you like me to brush your hair? It really is quite a mess. My mother said you should always brush your hair, a hundred strokes every day."

For the first time, Pansy got a positive reaction, as June looked up at her. No words were said, just an ever so tentative slight nod of acceptance. Slowly, Pansy pulled out the brush, careful not to scare the girl. She had been told not to make sudden moves. June shifted so her long brown hair was clear and easily reached by Pansy. Ever so gently Pansy began to stroke her brush through June's hair, teasing out the tangles without pulling the hair from June's head.

This was something she could do, something that made her feel like she wasn't quite helpless. At least in some small way, in a world that seemed to have turned upside down in less than a week, Pansy could do something that mattered, even if it was minuscule in the grand scheme of things.

* * *

Dudley Dursley looked with satisfaction at the painted angel statue he'd just finished fixing into place. It's cherubic form looked upwards, hands folded as if in prayer. The wisp of golden hair caught the late afternoon sun, and the blue eyes seemed to twinkle as he looked at it. He didn't remember his little sister Dahlia. He hadn't even been two when she died, but Harry had shown him a picture when they went shopping for the angel, and it was the closest they'd found.

The news that his mother was pregnant with another baby girl after all these years had shocked Dudley. He knew that his parents did that. He'd had the misfortune of walking in on them several times last summer, after Harry had left. It was an image that he'd rather have not gotten.

He was working on the new front garden with Harry. Dudley had been surprised to learn that Harry was now allowed to do magic, if he didn't let the secret out. Seeing Harry do what he called minor transfiguration on a couple stones had stunned Dudley, but he rather approved of the reason. The little rock that the Angel Dahlia, as Dudley was privately calling the statue, was on had the carved name of his baby sister.

It wasn't the only angel that would be in the garden. Harry had chosen a couple others that Dudley easily identified as matching his parents. Dudley knew that the garden was a memorial garden for his mother. She'd been in tears when she explained to Dudley exactly why the garden was being built, and where the idea had originated. He'd never really seen his mother so emotional as she had been since he arrived home. At first he thought it was due to her being pregnant, but as he thought about it, he wasn't so sure, anymore.

"Harry, does this look right?" Dudley called out, as he stood up straight. Most of the garden was bare dirt, the plants wouldn't arrive until next week, but Harry had put little stakes in various places to indicate where they were to go. His cousin was currently struggling with the water feature liner.

His cousin looked up, and giving a thumbs up, replied. "Looks good to me, Dud."

Harry had been calling him Dud since he got home. It was not among his preferred names, but he let Harry. At Smeltings everyone was called by their last names. Even if you were friends, you didn't use first names. It just wasn't done. Dudley's friends around Little Whinging called him Big D, mostly. Piers occasionally got away with calling him Dud, but not often. "Thanks. Where do you want your parents?"

Harry looked up in surprise. His mouth seemed to drop open and closed without him realizing it. Dudley figured that he'd managed to surprise his cousin by knowing something. That was rare. Dudley knew that he wasn't as smart as Harry. When he was in primary school, it was not uncommon for him to bully Harry into checking his homework, if not doing it for Dudley. His first year at Smeltings had taught him the downside of relying on that.

Harry firmly closed his mouth after a moment. "Mum goes opposite Dahila on the other side of where the waterfall will be. Dad will be peeking around from behind it."

Dudley picked up the angel he'd identified as Harry's father, with the messy hair as smirk, there was no other way to describe that expression. "Looks like he's about to pull your Mum's pigtails," Dudley said as he moved the angel in to place.

"Yeah, that's kind of why I chose that one," Harry said, spreading the lining towards where the angels were. "We're going to need help to put the waterfall in place. Might even have to wait until Professor Dumbledore is available."

"Yeah, that pile of stones looks way too heavy," Dudley said, standing up straight. "Maybe Dad can help with it." As he looked over the bare dirt of the front garden, picturing the changes that had been in the drawings that he'd been shown, he noticed someone walking dejectedly down the sidewalk.

It didn't take long for Dudley to identify the figure. The long straight strawberry blonde hair could only belong to one person on Privet Drive, Porta Polkiss, Piers's younger sister. Porta went to school in a rather exclusive girl's school in Essex that her mother had gone to, and Dudley had not seen since he'd left for Smeltings the Summer before. He hadn't seen her since they'd shared their first kiss. "Porta?"

Porta looked up, revealing that she'd been crying, the trails of tears visible down her cheeks. "Dudley!" She cried out, flinging herself into Dudley's arms. Instinctively, he put his arms around her, as her body shook with a sob.

"What's wrong, Porta?" Dudley asked, She looked up into his eyes, like she was seeking something. Whatever it is, Dudley thought she found it, as she seemed to relax in his arms.

"Piers is in the Hospital," Porta said. "He was hit by a truck while he was out last night. Mum said he broke every bone in his body, and Daddy says he's in a coma."

Dudley knew that Porta was really close to her brother, much as it sometimes annoyed Piers. He'd hoped that she hadn't told Piers that she had gotten her first kiss from him, but Dudley had been punched in the gut for doing it on the way to Smeltings.

"I'm sorry, Porta," Dudley said, taking an offered handkerchief from Harry and beginning to use it to wipe the tears from Porta's face. "I was supposed to meet him yesterday afternoon but I missed the first train of the day."

"He was kind of upset about that," Porta said, moving in Dudley's arms, pressing her body up against him. "Mum practically kicked him out of the house after no one answered the telephone all afternoon." Dudley barely heard Porta's belly rumble.

"Hungry?" Dudley asked, one of his hands sliding up and down her back under her hair.

"A bit, I haven't eaten all day," Porta admitted. "Mum and Dad have been at the Hospital most of the day."

"Harry, do you think we can risk Mum and Dad and go into the Kitchen?" Dudley asked, looking over at his cousin.

"I think can make up a little snack for us without Aunt Petunia complaining too much," Harry said, before pausing and smirking. "I think they've crossed off the Kitchen for this week, but I'd be careful about going into the bathroom."

Dudley groaned. "You had to remind me about it," he said, remembering what he'd walked in on when he'd come back to take a shower after his morning run. "Come on, Porta. Let's see what the best boy cook in all of Surrey can put on the bloody stove."

"Oh, you want something cooked!" Harry said. "Porta, are you sure you want to hang around this big lug?"

"I'm sure," Porta said, and then to Dudley's surprise, she kissed him. It wasn't just a quick kiss either. Her mouth opened and their tongues briefly touched, before she pulled away with a smile, her brother's condition momentarily forgotten.

As he guided Porta around back, Dudley decided that he liked his cousin. It wasn't something that he'd tell Harry, at least not at the moment. He opened the door for Porta. It wasn't time now to ask, but as she stepped into Number Four, Dudley decided that he was going to ask her to be his girlfriend. Now he was going to make sure she got to eat, and then afterwards, maybe his father would take them to see Piers in the Hospital.

As Harry took his place in the kitchen, Dudley dared to start to kiss Porta. Harry had to tap his shoulder to get their attention when the snack was ready. Both of them blushed as they pulled apart.

"I've got to tell Laura about this," his mother said as they both suddenly took an embarrassed step backwards. "So is he a good kisser, Porta?"

"Mum!" Dudley found himself moaning in protest, even as his cheeks warmed with embarrassment. He pulled out the chair for Porta, ready to endure his mother's questioning, knowing that he couldn't escape it, not with Porta's hand clasped in his. He wasn't letting go though. No, he intended to kiss Porta again soon. That was what mattered. For her he was willing to endure his mother calling him her little Dudleykins again.

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

_Posting of this was delayed one day due to a review that was just "post more soon."_

_You may expect to see more of Privet Drive in the next few chapters as we enter a lull in the planned actions, the Dark Lord requires time to recover._

_A Guest reviewer comment that in the last chapter he had some difficulty following which royl was which. This was intended, actually, due to the point of view. Basically, when the point of view is a pureblood, expect them to have trouble identifying royals. Pansy would have no idea who the Queen was if she was to walk into the room._


	6. Angels and Demons

**Chapter Six**

Petunia Dursley considered herself to be a devout woman, or at least she once was. She attend Eucharist every Sunday, and managed to go to Morning Prayer at least a couple times a week. During the school year, she often managed to do so every day for weeks at a time, though she often had to go to a different church.

In Little Whinging, the local Anglican Parish was known as Saint Philip the Apostle's Church. The building had begun it's life as a chapel on a noble's estate, and dated back to the time of Edward the Confessor. It had once been a rather plain structure, until Victorian times, when the Golthic Revivalists had gotten their hands on it. Now it featured intricate stone tracery, and the stained glass windows that had been added then had just gone through another restoration.

Saint Philip's was known for it's stained glass windows, especially the fifth one back from the altar on the West side. It was called Jesus and the Little children. Petunia had personally contributed to that last restoration of the window. It was a window that she often stared at, both inside and outside the church. Of course you really couldn't get the full sense of the window from the outside, save for one time of day, and then only if the upper doors to exit the choir loft were open.

Father Greeley knew about it, and when the weather was good, he ordered the doors kept open. It improved the circulation of the un-air-conditioned sanctuary. Father Greeley had also admitted to Petunia that he liked to look at the particular window, too.

For Petunia, it had special significance. And this Sunday Morning, she stood in the grave yard and remembered that day when she'd buried her baby daughter. Dahlia had been strangely untouched by death. When Petunia had seen her in the coffin that last time, she almost thought Dahlia was asleep. It wasn't until she had stood in front of her daughter's grave and looked up towards the Church, and saw the window, that she had accepted that her daughter was dead.

For months afterwards, Petunia had come to the grave yard, trying to capture that feeling of acceptance, it had only lasted a minute or so, as the light shown through the church, lighting up Jesus and a pair of children at his side. As the sun rose in the sky less of the figure would be lit and visible from the grave yard. It was in that minute that the whole figure was lit that Petunia had ever so briefly found acceptance, in that moment she had truly believed that her daughter was at the side of the Son of God.

It was a moment that she had wished that she could have hung onto. A moment that she wasn't the overwhelmed young mother who had lost her daughter. A moment when she wasn't the unwilling caretaker of the son of her dead sister. A moment when her father, mother, and sister were not dead. A moment when she could still feel the touch of their hands on her shoulders, shoulders that did not seem like they could not take the weight.

Lily had been there, that day. It was the last time she had seen Lily. Here in this morning, having walked all the way from Privet Drive, her nephew accompanying her for the first time in ages, the memory seemed fresh again. Here, with her ritual stop at her daughters grave, with the morning breeze after a midnight's rain, everything seemed fresh again.

As she stood by the grave, reading the tombstone in her mind for what seemed to be the millionth time, Harry bent down and placed a single white Easter lily on the stone, right between the dates. "Dahlia Dursley, September 10, 1981 - October 13, 1981, Non angli sed angeli," he read. "I wish I'd know you."

Somehow Harry's arm found it's way around Petunia's back. She knew that her nephew was not one for physical signs of affection, Vernon's temper had assured that, so the comfort of the touch as she looked down at the grave, the wound of her first daughter's passing only recently beginning to start to heal.

As she looked up from the grave towards the church, the window seemed to glow, the halo around Jesus seemed to expand. The little girl at Jesus's side seemed to wink at Petunia, as the tears flowed down Petunia's face. She could not bear to wipe them from her face. Her eyes stayed on the window, as the sounds of Bach's Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring started to come from within the Church.

"Come on, Aunt Petunia, we don't want to miss Mass," Harry said as he began to guide her to the church. His arm behind her back reminding her so much of how his mother, her sister had guided her that day when grief seemed to be the deepest.

The baby inside her would not be another Dahlia. There could not be another Dahlia, but maybe, just maybe. "Harry," the name escaped her, and her nephew looked up, right into her eyes. It was not as far up as he had to last year. Her boys had grown so fast. "Do you think you mother would have minded if I name the baby after her?"

* * *

It had been two years since Sirius Black had been on Privet Drive. It was still the most boring street in Britain. Of course, part of that might have been because he was visiting the same way as the last time, as Padfoot, at least until he got to Number Four. He really hated being on the run.

As he reached Number Four, he spotted Harry bent over next to the pond part of the water feature, placing one of the stones that would be around it's edge. Sirius couldn't resist the target. He broke into a run, building up as much speed as he could. When he reached his godson, he jumped, his paws hitting right on Harry's behind. His momentum carried him over the pond. Harry, on the other hand, ended up in the drink.

Sirius turned and gave a mischievous bark before heading around the corner of the house to transform. Since Harry was a Wizengamot member now, he could prevent Sirius from being arrested in his home.

As Sirius reentered the front garden, Harry was just standing up, still in the middle of the pond. Over beside the waterfall, or what Sirius believed was going to be a waterfall, Harry's cousin appeared to be busy laughing hysterically. "Sirius Orion Black, you son of a bitch, you had to knock me into the water."

"I do not deny that my mother was a bitch," Sirius said with a smile. "I think I can even find a few witness to attest to it." As Harry looked at him with an expression of disbelief, Sirius let the smile drop. Now that he was looking directly at Harry, he noticed circles around Harry's eyes. "Harry, we need to talk."

"Well, thanks to you, I need to change," Harry replied, stepping out of the pond. He was barefoot. There was a bruise on the top of his left foot. "Dud, can you test the pump while I see what my godfather wants?"

"Sure Harry," Dudley replied, as Harry led Sirius over to the front door of number four. Sirius spared a brief glance backwards at Dudley, noting that the boy seemed to be a bit more to the muscular side than he had been the last time he'd visited Privet Drive.

Harry led Sirius up the stairs to his room, passing Aunt Petunia who gave a disapproving glance to Harry. "Sorry, Aunt Petunia," Harry said at her glance. "I got pushed in the water feature. Dudley's testing the pump if you want to see how the waterfall is going to work." Petunia nodded. Harry continued up the stairs and into the smallest bedroom. Once in, Harry preformed a drying charm on his clothes.

The room was a lot better than what Sirius had been told. The bed had a new spread and sheets, judging from the packaging still on the floor, deep blue ones. It looked like someone was testing out a painting charm on one wall, which was a golden yellow to the other plain white walls. The white walls all had a place at top where it was obvious that something had been torn from them. The curtains also looked fairly new, matching the new bedding.

"Are you sleeping okay, Harry?" Sirius asked. There were definite bags under Harry's eyes.

"Dudley woke me up before five this morning. I got just four hours sleep thanks to him and staying up reading Hermione's Wizengamot research notes," Harry replied, looking down. "Why did you come to Privet Drive?"

"It was a safe enough trip, as Padfoot," Sirius said, as Harry sat down on his bed. Sirius took his seat on Harry's desk chair. It was a bit wobbly and looked beaten up. "I think you need to replace this."

"It's on my list," Harry replied. "Uncle Vernon said I could fix up or replace any of the stuff in my bedroom, and I'm going to need a new desk and computer to do some of my Wizengamot stuff. At least that's what Hermione says. I've never really used a computer."

"Computer. What's a computer?" Sirius began. "Never mind, I need to tell you about my plan to sneak back into Azkaban."

"You plan to sneak back into Azkaban, the world's most secure wizarding prison," Harry said in an incredulous tone. "Past all those dementors. Professor Lupin said you were the one that always came up with the craziest ideas, but I'm sure this one is a whole new level of craziness. What in the world are you trying to do? You want to become the first person to escape it twice?"

"Actually, I want my freedom, and if I'm in the prison, with the support of a Wizengamot member like yourself, I can petition to finally have a trial," Sirius replied. He rather enjoyed watching the response to this plan. Remus had been a lot more vocal. Dumbledore had actually thought that at the right time it might work. Remus had reminded Sirius that Dumbledore had been considered slightly mad since at least their time at Hogwarts.

Harry looked up at the ceiling, as if he was calling for divine intervention, before laying back on his bed and crossing his arms. "I've got to hear how this works."

"I intend to go from here to the Shetlands, where I'm going to take a dinghy out close to Azkaban," Sirius began, reciting his plan. "I will then change to Padfoot and swim ashore. My cousin Tonks, who is an Auror confirmed that nothing has happened to my path into the building yet, so I should be able to get back into the building. I'm not going back to my cell though, as they did do something to my old cell. Instead, I'm going to a disused wing for low security prisoners, known as the Questioning Wing. There I will shut myself in a cell. Monday morning, Madame Bones, along with Tonks and Kingsley are doing a full inspection of Azkaban..."

* * *

Harry cursed whoever had designed the stone edging. It was supposed to fit exactly around the edge of the water feature, each piece tight against the other. Harry was beginning to think it was really designed to hurt him, and it never seemed to fit right. All his help was gone at the moment. Dudley was with his new girlfriend. Uncle Vernon had declared that it was too hot for him to work.

Harry had decided to keep going. He hoped that he'd have all the rocks and the water feature done by the time Professor Dumbledore brought the plants after Monday's Wizengamot session, so they could be planted Tuesday Morning. "Ouch! Bloody rock," Harry mumbled.

"Language, Harry." It was a familiar female voice. Harry looked up, confirming that Hermione Granger had come to visit Privet Drive for the first time. "I do hope you haven't done all of this yourself."

"No, I've had an army of house elves working around the clock," Harry replied. "The house wasn't in the right place so they had to take it down and rebuild it six and a quarter inches to the South."

"Harry!" Hermione scolded.

"What brings you to Privet Drive?" Harry asked tirely.

"Well, you're do at the Wizengamot early tomorrow morning, and I thought I'd stop by on my way to London to drop off some of the research results," Hermione pulled out a sheaf of paper about a inch thick. "That, and I wanted to see if you'd started your homework yet."

"No, I have not started my homework yet. It's only been four days since we left Hogwarts," Harry snapped.

"Are you okay, Harry?" Hermione asked, moving towards him.

Harry looked at his best female friend. She was, as always, impeccably dressed, wearing a knee length gray skirt and a white T-shirt with the Vauxhall car company logo on it. All of it quality clothes. For some reason, as he looked at her concerned expression and perfect attire, something broke loose. "No, I'm not okay. I got less than two hours of sleep last night, because for the first night since Cedric died, I wasn't busy thinking about something. So last night, I got highlights of Kill the Spare, and Not Harry. I saw things that Malfoy did. Then just as I'm finally getting to sleep again, Aunt Petunia calls me down so I can go with her to Church.

"I have to walk with her all the way out to Saint Philip's, then get stuck in a row between two old ladies who have no concept of proper perfume application. That's enough to trigger Aunt Petunia's morning sickness, so now I have to take my new suit to be dry cleaned. I get back here, and I have to cook a satisfactory Sunday Dinner, and the roast isn't thawed out. Thank the Lord for Flitwick's discussion last year on warming charms, because otherwise ... well, it wouldn't have been well done, and my goose would have been cooked instead.

"Then after dinner, Sirius comes to tell me his brilliant plan to sneak back into Azkaban in order to get his freedom. I swear, my godfather is nuts. Then, Dudley had to bail on helping me finish moving these rocks so he could go out to distract his new girlfriend from the fact that Piers is in a coma. I swear it's been a regular soapbox opera around here.

"And that's just today. Yesterday I found out that my Uncle Vernon hates magic because a Death Eater killed my baby cousin Dahlia weeks before I was left on their doorstep. Now there is a way to meet your nephew. Still grieving over your daughter, and suddenly your magical nephew, magical just like the man who killed your daughter, is literally left on the doorstep with a folded single sheet note explaining that his parents have been killed and you have to raise him.

"No wonder why I lived in a cupboard under the stairs. I mean I kind of liked the place. It was my special place, even before they put the bed in, and I moved down out of Dudley's room. I always wondered why the smallest bedroom wasn't used, but I knew better than to ask. I guess I know now. I found part of the old nursery edging when I was repainting my room. It must have been Dahlia's room for the thirty-three days she was alive. I think it still hurts Aunt Petunia to go into my room."

Harry closed his eyes and took a couple deep breaths.

"I used to think that my aunt and uncle hated me without reason. I mean, I lived in the cupboard from age five until just before I left for Hogwarts. When Uncle Vernon broke my door, they replaced it with that one with all the locks and the cat flap. Of course, I just found out this afternoon that Dudley was responsible for half the times I ended up locked in my room."

"Oh Harry," Hermione said, suddenly flinging herself into him, enveloping Harry in a strong hug.

Harry had learnt one thing over the years about Hermione hugging, when Hermione hugs you, resistance is futile. So he let her hold him tight. As he was pressed against her, tighter than usual, he could feel his friend's breasts against his body. Hermione did not have small breasts, nor really large ones. She wasn't wearing a bra. It was a rather nice distraction from the rant he'd just finished, though the hug was beginning to effect him.

Hermione swiftly pulled away. Harry had to wonder if she noticed as the swift ending was atypical. He hoped not. "Now, you know if ..." She trailed off, as Harry nodded. "Good. Now, I really think you should get started on that Transfiguration Essay. Professor McGonagall expects at least six feet."

"Hermione, the only six feet I'm going to be is under, tonight," Harry replied. "If I'm lucky, I will be so tired that I won't even remember You-Know-Who is alive. And maybe, just maybe, since Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia just left, I will get to sleep past seven. Of course with my luck, Dudley will wake me up when he goes for his morning jog. At. Bloody. Five. In. The. Morning."

"Where are your aunt and uncle, anyway?" Hermione asked. "I was looking forward to meeting them."

"It's an interesting story," Harry replied with a smirk. "They're spending the night in the Tower as guests of the Queen."

* * *

"Who comes there?"

"The keys."

"Whose keys?"

"Queen Elizabeth's keys."

"Pass Queen Elizabeth's keys. All is well."

"God preserve Queen Elizabeth."

"Amen!"

Vernon Dursley was going to enjoy telling his co-workers of the one part of his overnight in London that he was allowed to. He understood that the hanging was not to be mentioned, and to tell the truth, he really didn't want to talk to anyone about watching Waldron Macnair hang. That was an intensely personal desire that he found a little disturbing in himself.

Vernon had done a lot of soul searching since he had gotten Petunia pregnant again. His appointments with the counselor had forced that on him, and he generally found it to be a good thing. Even as a child, Vernon had a temper that he was struggling to control, and his sister Marge often said that he would hold an opinion long enough to kill it, then mount it up on the wall.

Vernon didn't actually like his sister that much, and once he started to go to Doctor Perks, that had gotten worse. It did not help that she'd visited last Spring, and her dog had bit Petunia. Vernon had threatened to have Ripper put to sleep. In his rant he had even brought up how the dog had chased and bit his nephew Harry. Marge had been beside herself. Doctor Perks had been concerned, but was generally supportive of the gist of the rant.

It was probably a good thing that Vernon had not noticed the picture on Doctor Perks' desk of his daughter Sally-Ann and her classmates until some weeks after that incident. The rant had provided the doctor with an opening to explorer Vernon's behavior towards his nephew. It had been painful. Vernon didn't think that he could ever make up for how he treated his nephew.

It surprised him how well Harry treated him. He had been sure that his break down when Dahlia's killer had been in the paper would have been met with indifference at best by his nephew. Instead, Harry had somehow contacted the Crown and not only arranged for Vernon and Petunia to see the murder's hanging, but arranged transportation to and overnight accommodations in the Tower of London itself.

The arrival of His Royal Highness, the Prince Edward, on Privet Drive had been rather public, though Vernon didn't discover who was their driver until they'd pulled away from the curb in what Vernon had easily identified as an old state car. He'd once seen the Queen Mother arrive at his school in one just like it, if not this one.

It was a great surprise that Prince Edward was a wizard, and if it wasn't for the fact that Vernon was coming to terms with his nephew being a wizard ... and the fact that it was the Queen's son ... he was sure he'd have had an outburst of some type. Maybe not though. Vernon had a lot more respect for the monarch than he had for Major.

After riding with Prince Edward driving, though, Vernon firmly believed that Royals should not be allowed to drive their own car. Prince Edward said he'd put some charms on the Bentley that matched some sort of wizarding transportation know as the Knight Bus, at least that was what Vernon thought Prince Edward said, when the car squeezed between those two slow moving lorries. He would have to ask Harry if he'd ever ridden that bus.

Vernon yawned. It was time to head to bed. He'd be getting up very early tomorrow, and he didn't want to miss that bloody wizard getting what he deserved.

* * *

_Author's Note:  
Updated 8/30/12  
_

_Posting was delayed one day, due to one solely "post more soon" review. Post more soon reviews rush authors and are not helpful to readers or the author. Post more soon reviews submitted as Guest reviews will be deleted. So whoever decided to post 3 of them in the last 30 minutes before I updated this ... they are in the bit bucket  
_

_Currently in progress is more in the Wizengamot, starring Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, and Professor Dumbledore, with special guest star, Snowdon._


	7. The Office of

****_Author's Note: This chapter is much longer than usual. Don't expect this to happen again. _

**Chapter Seven**

It was Harry Potter's first real day at the Wizengamot as a member, and that, unfortunately, meant that he had to set up his office. Fortunately, he had a lot of help, most of which had arrived before him. Even Ron had somehow managed to arrive before him. Of course, Harry had delayed his arrival just a little bit to have a late breakfast with his uncle in London.

It had taken a good hour to get his office like he wanted it. Only then did he return to the main room of the office. He looked at the bustle going on. Hermione had a stack of books from the Wizengamot Library already. From what he could see of the titles, it looked like he could expect a briefing for the Education Committee's meeting tomorrow. Luna looked to be going through a pile of parchment, making brief notes. Ron appeared to be practicing his transfiguration, turning some stones into inkwells. Ginny, who had slid right into the job of office manager, was talking with some of the Hufflepuffs that would be working as pages for his office.

As he stepped out into the main room, Ginny looked up at him. "Harry, you've got some messages."

"Already?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Ginny replied. "Her Majesty would like to meet you sometime towards the end of the week, and regrets that it can not be earlier. She suggests the time right after Thursday's Morning Wizengamot Session. A side note, the Royals have notified all members of the Wizengamot that a royal will be in attendance during every session until further notice."

"Inform her Majesty that I shall be there as she requires," Harry replied. He wasn't sure about a lot about his new job, but he was sure that when the Queen asked you to meet, you met her. "Next."

"Professor Dumbledore says that he regretted not being able to work on your garden this weekend, but hopes to put in a couple hours this afternoon."

"Hermione, can you get word to my Aunt Petunia on that?" Harry asked. Hermione nodded.

"There is a General Services Committee meeting scheduled for Wednesday afternoon, call it an organizational one, as there are three new members, and Professor Dumbledore wants to make sure everything is handled. Other than a bunch of congratulations, that I'll summarize for you to read later, that's all I have."

"Harry, I think you need to make a few statements," Luna said. "The Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly have both asked for interviews. I don't think either of them expects a response, it's just the first time they've been able to have a chance to get an answer to their questions in the summer. I think you need to say something about Friday's trials, and maybe something about Tom Riddle."

Harry's mind went back to Friday, and the horrors he had heard from Lucius Malfoy's mouth. He had to gulp to prevent the bile from coming up again "Perhaps, some suitable beginning, then an expression that justice has been done, taking a vile man to his deserved final reward," Harry replied. He wasn't quite sure how to phrase it, but he was glad Lucius Malfoy was no longer part of this world.

Luna tapped her quill on her lips a couple times before replying. "Then ... the Honorable Member from Surrey, having witnessed the late Lucius Malfoy's trial, believes justice has been done, sending Lucius Malfoy to his well deserved final reward."

"In Hell," Harry concluded. "Send it to the major papers. As for the statement on Tom Riddle ..." Harry had to think a bit. With Lucius Malfoy on his mind, he remembered his exchange with the late Death Eater after the Chamber of Secrets. "It is my intention to see that Tom Marvolo Riddle, the wizard that killed my parents, is dead. He can rest assured that I will always be around to see to his death no matter how many times it takes for it to take.."

"Thank you Harry, the nargles seem to be staying away from you today." Luna said.

Harry turned to Hermione. "I know you have something for me. I've seen that look before."

Hermione pushed a stack of paper across the table. "Quick Evaluation of all members of the Wizengamot for the post of Minister of Magic, so you won't sound out of place. I'd read Bones, Dumbledore, Longbottom, Scrimgeour, Thicknesse, and Potter, first."

"You evaluated me, as Minister of Magic?" Harry shook his head. "I'm not even fifteen until the end of the month, Hermione. They'd have to be crazy to place my name in nomination."

"Harry, they gave you a seat on the Wizengamot when you were two," Hermione said. "Given that, and some of the laws I've been reading over the last couple years, I will not say that they're not crazy. Read and memorize every objection I gave for you. I have a feeling that you'll need that... and maybe some sort of a Shermanesque statement."

"Actually, I think I'll just say that even my best friends think the idea is crazy," Harry said. "Mind if I cite you by name?"

Just as Hermione shook her head, Harry noticed that there was some commotion in the corridor. There was shouting, and several Aurors ran past. That was when Neville poked his head in. "Harry, you're going to want to see this. Malfoy's just had his whole staff fired and arrested."

* * *

Draco Malfoy sat outside the offices that where now his, since Lucius had been executed. He sat in the same chair that his father had him sit in the previous summer, after he'd dropped the dungbomb into the research room. He'd done it to get out of a very boring lecture on par with Professor Binns.

At the time he'd tilted back in the chair, and spent the next hour waiting for his father while fantasizing about Pansy. Pansy had been better than his fantasies. Today, however, he sat in the chair, which he'd moved across the hall, watching as staff member after staff member was removed from the office, bound, and headed for more questioning in the Auror Offices. Lucius had employed twenty-four in his office, and after Miss Cash-Knut being escorted out, he was sure that all of them were going to be charged with something.

As they exited, the Auror would give the charge. For Miss Cash-Knut it had been bribery and harlotry. Draco had only one response, "You're fired." He'd said it twenty-three times so far.

The last member of Lucius's staff was being escorted out now. It was Lucius's chief of staff, Gideon Nott. His left sleeve had been ripped off. Auror Shacklebolt, the lead auror assigned, announced his charges, "active Death Eater, murder, rape, kidnaping, use of curses unforgivable and cruel, and attempted bribery of an law enforcement officer."

"You're fired," Draco said, standing up and looking firmly into the eyes of Gideon Nott. He hadn't realized that he was nearly as tall as Nott.

"My master will save me, and the Dark Lord will have his revenge," Nott replied, practically spitting at Draco.

Draco replied as calmly as he could, pulling on the long training that his father had given him. "Your master has no idea what he has awakened. I'd have you tell him that Snowdon comes, but you're not going to be able to warn him in time." Then looked towards Shacklebolt. "Make sure that's unrepentant Death Eater, and add resisting arrest. He was at Malfoy Manor awaiting Lucius's return. How long will my office be unavailable?"

"No longer than two days," Shacklebolt replied. "Thank you for disarming the traps on your father's office."

"Do not call that man my father," Draco said. "That man was a Death Eater who dishonored the family line. He is forever stricken from the family rolls, and died nameless." Shacklebolt nodded, and with a tilt of his head, directed the last of the staff of Lucius who once was a Malfoy away. It was not long after that Draco collapsed into his chair.

"Wow, Malfoy, that was cold." Draco looked up to discover that Neville Longbottom was approaching him. It looked like the entire Gryffindor and Hufflepuff fifth years had gathered down the corridor. He dimly recalled noticing them, early in the process. "Well done."

Draco was unaccustomed to receiving compliments, especially from Gryffindors. Especially from Gryffindors that had thrown him out of the compartment on the Hogwarts Express less than a week before. Still, it was a compliment, and it would not be good politics to ignore it. Plus now, he actually ranked over Longbottom. He stood, and clasp the offered hand of the Longbottom heir. "Thank you, Longbottom. Now, I've got to find some place to prepare for taking my oaths in this afternoon's session. I'm afraid my office is not going to be suitable for a while."

"Perhaps you would prefer the hospitality of the Lincolnshire Offices?" Longbottom offered. His grasp was surprisingly firm for the boy that had only recently got the courage to stand up for himself. "My Gran will not mind." Longbottom let go.

"Or perhaps Surrey can help." Draco was surprised to hear the voice and see Harry Potter approaching. "I know we're still getting organized, but we've apparently got the only press secretary in the Wizengamot, and you could use one, Malfoy."

It was pure impulse, and he'd latter wonder what had got into him, but he replied. "Call me Draco. I understand some members of the Wizengamot are better than others. Perhaps you can help me with that?"

"I don't know about that, Draco," Potter said, clasping Draco's hand just as firmly as Longbottom had. "I'm still feeling my way around this place. Now, Neville here, he knows everything. If we're really lucky, he'll tell us before we do something wrong."

"You already have," Neville said. "I just lost a Galleon to Ginny."

"Speaking of bets, I've got an outstanding one with Hermione," Potter replied. "But before I do that, I want to say something. Draco, you have to be one of the bravest people I've met. Are you sure you're not a Gryffindor? I mean, Friday you stood up for what you believed was right against your own father, whose crimes ... well, it's probably best not to list them."

The crowd had dissipated, with the last member of the Wiltshire staff having been taken away, leaving him alone with the two Gryffindors. Somehow with the two, one he'd often derided as little more than a squib, and the other a boy he'd envied all his life. Today though, today he knew the cost. His father was dead like Potter's parents. His mother's recovery was uncertain. It was possible that she'd never wake up like Longbottom's hadn't. "I'm no Gryffindor." He knew that among them, their house name was the ultimate compliment, just like Slytherin was to his house. "I'm just ... I've just got Pansy and she's having my baby." It was the first time he'd admitted it to anyone outside his family.

"Congratulations, Draco," Potter said. "How far along is she? My aunt is four months pregnant."

"Three months," Draco replied. With the stress of firing and having his father's staff arrested finally passed, he knew he was going to start babbling. He always did, but he didn't care right now. "I'm really worried about her. I mean, we're awfully young to be becoming parents. The Queen's doctor gave us all of these pamphlets about it. There are so many things that can go wrong. I'm not really ready to be a father either. I mean I just finished my fourth year, and suddenly I'm going to be a father and I'm a member of the Wizengamot."

"I can't help you with the father part, Draco, but I'm glad I'm not the only one my age in the Wizengamot now," Harry smiled. It was a genuine smile. One like he'd dreamed of receiving back when his father had told him to befriend Potter. "Think you can call me Harry?"

"Think you can handle being friends with the reformed son of a Death Eater, Harry?" Draco asked. He hoped the answer was yes. He needed the answer to be yes. He'd needed the answer to be yes during his first year, but did not know how. He'd gone from friend to foe in seconds, and had never quite figured out why. Now he hoped he had a second chance.

"Might take a bit, but we can try." Harry replied. He looked up and down at Draco. "Come on, I think you need a bit of prep for this afternoon's session. Lavender first, I think."

"Why am I getting a sudden shiver of doom?"

* * *

"Hear ye, hear ye, hear ye, the Wizengamot stands ready to open the second day of its Summer Session on this the hundred forty-eighth day of the forty-third year on the reign of her majesty, Queen Elizabeth, the second of that name to reign over the British Isles, Defender of Faith, Lord of all that is Magical. Chief Warlock Albus Dumbledore presiding at the pleasure and the sufferance of her Majesty."

Albus Dumbledore banged the gavel, opening the day's session. All the sworn members were accounted for, but there was one new member standing at the East Threshold, Draco Malfoy. No, there was a woman standing next to him, with the hood of her white robes up. With members at threshold, as expected, he knew that a Royal should be appearing at the South Threshold shortly, unless a notice of delay arrived. He knew of none, so it was with no surprise that the sentinel standing guard there banged his staff on the wood of the threshold. His words, however, that was a surprise.

The hood deep purple robes of the waiting royal slid back as she stepped across the threshold, as tradition stated, and the sentinel began to announce. "All rise for her Majesty, Elizabeth the Second, by grace of God, of Great Britain, Ireland, and the Dominions Beyond the Seas Queen, Defender of Faith, Lord of all that is Magical." As the Queen moved down the center aisle, Dumbledore descended from the presiding officer's post, causing it to slide aside to reveal the steps to the Queen's throne.

As the Queen came to a stop in the well of the chamber, Dumbledore bowed deeply. "Your Majesty." As he looked up, he noticed that she was wearing the Imperial State Crown. That told him that today was an most important session. It was not often worn, usually only in the official opening the Monday after Easter, a four day official session known as the Opening Quartet. "May I assist you to your throne." That was a traditional line, and sometimes a necessary one. The Queen's grandfather often had needed assistance.

"Not at this time, Chief Warlock," the Queen said. "We have business that necessitates our presence on the floor. We are given to understand that there are new members to swear in before we take up the business of the Crown."

"I do see two standing at the East, though I am only aware of one outstanding warrant for membership, that of the member from Wiltshire," Dumbledore said, still puzzled by the hooded woman standing beside Draco.

The Queen turned to address the assembled still standing members. "We wish to remind the members gathered here in, that memberships offered in this body are not withdrawn by refusal of the candidate, but withdrawn by the body with the consent of the crown. In 1946, this body made a rare offer, an offer made at the same time as to many other heroes in the war known in the non-magical world as the Second World War, and among those magical as the Grindelwald War.

"Of the ten seats offered, one of them is seated as your Chief Warlock. Another inherited his father's seat. Seven are no longer of this world. The remaining, then only a girl of fifteen, almost sixteen, chose not to be sworn in as a member. This candidate earned the offer in battle and in service. She stood before the King, my late father, and defended our family from wizards sent against us. She stood before you, presiding as the Wizard Royal, Royal Delegate of our father, and mobilized you to join your non-magical brethren in defending the kingdom. She is rightly feared by many.

"Your Royal Highness, Princess Margaret, Countess of Snowdon, approach to give your oath before this body."

With that, the lady ... princess in the white robes stepped across the threshold, her hood dropping. As she approached, Dumbledore noticed that the robe wasn't truly white, but had patterns of iridescent snowflakes embroidered in it. Two Tudor Roses flanked a thistle on the badge on her left breast. The years had not been entirely kind to the Princess, but then again, he mostly remembered her as the energetic young Princess who had once had his back against Grindelwald.

Princess Margaret curtseyed to her sister, as Dumbledore falling into his role as head of the Wizengamot, with the aid of a slip of paper that the Queen had discreetly sild into his hand said, "Your Majesty, I present to you the member from Gwynedd, Her Royal Highness, the Princess Margaret, Countess of Snowdon."

"Sister, you stand before us, finally taking your place," the Queen said. "You were chosen young, but chosen well. We have accepted you as one of our loyal Wizards, to serve our magical people in Gwynedd and in these isles. Raise your wand and swear your oath."

Princess Margaret raised her wand, a slender branch of birch, and said, "I, Margaret Rose, Countess of Snowdon, swear by my magic that I will be faithful and bear true allegiance to her Majesty Queen Elizabeth, her heirs and successors, by law and by magic, so mote it be."

"We accept your oath," the Queen announced. "Take your seat, and know that all in this chamber hold you to your duty."

A new desk appeared to the right of the center row, pushing Dumbledore's own desk to the side. As a royal she had precedence over him, now that she had sworn her oath. Princess Margaret curtseyed to the Queen again, before taking her place. Dumbledore looked over at the Queen, and receiving a nod, called out the next member.

"Draco Malfoy, son of that which served before him, as did his father, and his father before him, enter and approach to give your oath," the queen called.

Draco walked in, and bowed before the Queen. "Your Majesty, I present to you the member from Wiltshire, Draco Malfoy." As Dumbledore finished, a pair of royal guards entered, their royal blue robes adorned with the royal standard. One, a tall almost of age boy, carried a sword carefully held in his hands. The other, a much young boy, not yet of Hogwarts age, carried a cushion.

"Before you give your oath, Draco," the Queen began. "We must acknowledge the service to which you have given our kingdom. You have at great cost to yourself revealed the misdeeds of your predecessor, to whom's posts you have regularly advanced. You revealed traitors to this body, and to our Crown. Such devotion should not go unacknowledged or rewarded. As one of our magical subjects, we may bestow honors as we see fit upon you. Therefore, let it be known from this day forward that Draco Malfoy shall be known by the title Baron Amesbury.

"Draco, Baron Amesbury, raise your wand and swear your oath."

As Draco raised his wand and began to say his oath, Dumbledore found that his mouth was open. He closed it.

"I, Draco, Baron Amesbury, swear by my magic that I will be faithful and bear true allegiance to her Majesty Queen Elizabeth, her heirs and successors, by law and by magic, so mote it be."

"We accept your oath," the Queen announced. "Take your seat, and know that all in this chamber hold you to your duty."

As Draco moved to take his seat, his father's old desk having been moved back to the rear of the chamber, Dumbledore moved to offer his assistance to the Queen, only be waved off. He noticed that the younger of the two guards was placing the cushion in front of the queen. The older one offered the Queen the sword. She did not take it yet.

"Gathered members of the Wizengamot, witches and wizards. We come here to this chamber, not just to swear in new members and announce their new titles. We come here today also to give an honor for a member of this chamber, not just among wizards, but among all of those in this kindgom. We come here to knight a member of this chamber, whose selfless duty, whose personal determination, whose dedication to the fight against the darkness brought him to not only the attention of you, his fellow members of our magical kingdom, but also to that of my Prime Minister, the honorable John Major.

"This member's actions alerted our kingdom to its peril. This member has defended our realm from the so called Dark Lord Tom Marvolo Riddle not just once, not just twice, but three times since he has entered school. It is with great pride in having such a subject that I call Harry James Potter, serving our kingdom from Surrey, to kneel before me."

Dumbledore had his eyes on Harry. He watched the dawning realization that the Queen was talking about him appear on the young man's face. He couldn't call Harry a boy anymore. Harry had faced more than men twice his age, and then some. It took a nudge from Augusta Longbottom before he started moving forward. Harry bowed before the Queen, before taking his place on the cushion.

Only then did the queen draw the sword from where her guard offered it. She tapped him on the shoulder as she said, "We knight thee, Sir Harry James Potter of Surrey." Then sheaving the sword, she continued. "Rise, Sir Harry. May you always be there to stand in defense of our realm."

Only once Harry had returned to his seat and the applause died down, did the Queen take Dumbledore's hand to assist her up the steep stairs to her throne in the chamber. Only then did everyone take their seat.

"Members of the Wizengamot," the Queen said from her throne. "Yesterday afternoon, We accepted the resignation of Cornelius Fudge as Minister of Magic. It was long overdue, to the point that We feel that several reminders about the position need to be made to those who may replace him. The first of these is that the Minister, though nominated by this body, serves at our pleasure. Not at the pleasure of our Prime Minister, though nominally part of the government, and expected to keep the Prime Minister informed, but our pleasure. It is expected that we receive regular updates on our magical realm from the new minister. Do not make us summon you.

"Second, this is full time job that we expect shall be engaged fully and completely. Corruption will not be tolerated, nor will service in that of dark lords. It is to be remembered that the Royal Family, though our Wizards Royal, have long taken personal offense at Dark Lords. You may recall that Prince Frederick, made Duke of Hogsmeade by George III, defeated the Dark Lord Loxias, who wielded the infamous deathstick. Our own uncle, Prince John, died fighting the Dark Lord Grindelwald. Our own sister was so well known as the bane of dark lords, Snowdon, that there was no other choice when it came time to entitle her.

"Finally, we have had the honor of working with people of true honor and determination as head of our governments. We shall be holding your new Minister of Magic to the standards of Winston Churchill, Millicent Bagnold, and Margaret Thatcher. Chose wisely. Chief Warlock, the gavel is yours."

Dumbledore stuck the gavel twice. "The floor is now open for nominations for Minister of Magic. Members are reminded that they may not nominate themselves nor anyone who is not a member of this body or a head of a ministry department. Should a head of a ministry department be nominated, nominations will be immediately placed in abeyance and a vote for membership taken. A two-thirds majority is required to offer membership. This membership offer is not contingent on being elected, and such new members may take their oath beginning during the next day's session. If you are nominated, you may withdraw your name before nominations are closed with a simple cry of 'withdrawn.'" Dumbledore brought down the gavel once.

Dumbledore looked out at the members of the Wizengamot, each seated behind their desks, waiting for someone to stand. Following tradition, the first to do so the elderly yet surprisingly spry, despite the seventy-six years he had on Dumbledore, Edwin Marchbanks, whose wife had administered most of the OWLs of those in the chamber. "The member from Aberdeen."

Edwin Marchbanks stroked his long beard, dyed black for the last century, as he said, "Aberdeen wishes to place Amelia Bones, Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement and Member from Kent into nomination." He sat down.

Dumbledore watched Madame Bones rise. As she had been nominated, he quickly said, "The member from Kent." He expected her to immediately withdraw her name

Madame Bones opened her mouth, then closed it, her eyes focused behind Dumbledore. He glanced backwards at the Queen. The Queen's expression was very stern, and following her eyes, Dumbledore could tell they were focused on Madame Bones. Madame Bones lowered her gaze, then suddenly getting an expression of determination and a bit of rebellion, she finally spoke. "Kent places in nomination, the Snowdon, Princess Margaret, Countess of Snowdon and member from Gwynedd." Then Madame Bones shot an glance of triumph over at the Countess.

It was only then that Dumbledore remembered that as a young girl, not yet out of Hogwarts, Amelia Bones had been the witch companion for the young princess during her visit to South Africa in 1947, when the Snowdon had defeated the African Dark Wizard Oogabuga. Then as a Auror in 1955 had been a member of the Princess Margaret's detail in her 1955 Carribean trip, when the Dark Lady Agostinha Assuncao. Dumbledore wondered if Madame Bones had been one of the Snowdon's owlets. None of them were really known, even after it had got out that Princess Margaret was the Snowdon in 1979.

Princess Margaret did not rise when Madame Bones sat down. Instead, still seated, in a stage whisper, she responded, "Amelia Bones, you are so going down." A chuckle echoed throughout the chamber, and Dumbledore was sure that the Queen had joined it, softly and barely evident.

With that Dumbledore had a choice for who to recognize next. Sterling, Haddington, or Somerset. "The member from Sterling."

Dolores Umbridge took a deep breath and with unnecessary volume announced, "Sterling places in nomination, the member from Staffordshire, Pius Thickness."

Dumbledore looked to Thickness, who shook his head, before he recognized the next member, "The member from Haddington."

Elphias Doge nodded in acknowledgment before he said, "Haddington places in nomination the member from Somerset, Lord Montgomery Riverwald."

"The member from Somerset," Dumbledore said, acknowledging the last of those currently standing. As he did so, he noticed that Harry Potter had summoned one of his pages and was handing her a set of notes.

Montgomery Riverwald was a tall man who in his youth had actually served in the Royal Navy. He wore the honors he'd won in the Battle of Jutland on his robe. "Somerset places in nomination the member from Haddington, Elphias Doge."

Dumbledore nodded. They had done the exchange every single time. The Surrey page, Miss Ophelia Campbell, a Hufflepuff second year, was now going among the desks. She dropped a note on the Dunbretane desk that Dumbledore was sure wasn't on Potter parchment. Other notes were dropped on Wiltshire, Lincolnshire, and Lancashire desks. All four them rose to get attention. Dumbledore decided, "the member from Dunbretane."

Sapphire Eagleton smile widely as she put down the paper. "Dunbretane places in nomination Percy Weasley, acting head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation."

"Objection, objection, Mr. Weatherby is not the head of that department," Dolores Umbridge yelled.

Dumbledore banged the gavel, as the chamber broke out in grumbles. "Sterling, you are out of order."

Then as the chamber quieted, the Queen spoke up. "Chief Warlock."

"Your Majesty," Dumbledore acknowledged turning towards the queen.

"Mister Percy Weasley was restored to the post he was deprived of without remuneration on our orders this past Saturday," the Queen announced. "Furthermore, we have so ordered back pay be immediately deposited and any fees caused by insufficient funds due to the former Minister's highly questionable withdrawal of remuneration earned while under suspension be paid by the Treasury. It is our understanding that Mister Weasley may not wish to return to the Ministry due to his contract with our favored Puddlemore United quidditch team, but as of this time he is the Acting Head of that department, Chief Warlock."

With a double rap of the gavel, Dumbledore announced, "with the nomination of Percy Weasley of the Department of International Magical Cooperation placed, nominations are tabled pending the vote on his membership in this body. We will take a fifteen minute recess to allow consulting with staff and fellow members." Dumbledore rapped the gavel twice again.

As the chamber broke up into groups, various members seeking out others, Dumbledore looked back at the Queen. "Your Majesty, do you require anything?" he asked.

"Not at this time. Edward has everything well in hand, though we may need to discuss my grandson attending your school, should the issue with the current dark lord be resolved by this time next year," the Queen said. Somehow a cup of tea now resided on a table next to the Queen.

Dumbledore nodded in acknowledgment, and looked down to the floor of the chamber. He'd expected that Madame Longbottom would be busy talking to Harry, young Malfoy, and the Campbell proxy, Eagleton. They were not. Augusta was talking with Madam Bones and Emmeline Vance, with Diggle listening in. Young Malfoy was talking with some of his father's old allies, Kerr, Borthwick, Menzies, Yaxley, and Thickness. Harry seemed to be floating around, having somehow managed to acquire the Princess Margaret in tow.

Dumbledore had never really seen Harry socializing much, which built the habits necessary to discuss subjects during these brief recesses on the floor of the Wizengamot. It seemed that the subject was enough to get him going. Dumbledore knew that when Harry Potter really got interested in something, and really believed in it, he could become quite persuasive. Dumbledore was pretty sure now that Harry had been the one to suggest Percy Weasley's membership.

Dumbledore watched as Harry and young Malfoy move among the desks. Assuming that they were working against one another, and Dumbledore could not see young Malfoy supporting the former head boy, Percy's chances to get on the Wizengamot were not good. Two thirds was thirty-six votes, given the addition of Snowdon, and the lack of replacements for Goyle and Macnair.

Dumbledore looked down at the hour glass before him. It was time. He bang the gavel twice. "Order. The recess is ended." It took surprisingly little time for everyone to find their seat. "Is there any member who wished to make a statement before we proceed on to the vote?" Dumbledore scanned the chamber. "Then with no objection, we shall proceed to vote. Please place your voting tokens on your desk to indicate your choice."

Each desk was provided with a pair of marbles, white for yea, and black for nay, that when dropped in the voting hole would trigger the name of the seat to be written under the appropriate header on the parchment on his desk. Different marbles would be given when they voted for the minister. As Dumbledore watched, most names were written under yea, but he was focusing on the nays. Nineteen would prevent Percy Weasley from taking a seat.

Staffordshire, Stirling, Linlithgow, Gaernafon, and Suffolk ... five votes nay. Dumbledore had to check. Surely there were more objections. Wiltshire was under yea? The young lord Malfoy had voted for a Gryffindor candidate? Only a third of the dark aligned members had objected. That was a big surprise to Dumbledore.

"With just five objections, the invitation for membership passes," Dumbledore announced. "The secretary shall dispatch the invitation. The floor is once again open for nominations for Minister of Magic. Wiltshire, Lincolnshire, and Lancashire were all standing to be acknowledged. The member from Wiltshire is reconized."

Draco Malfoy stood, and with a big grin faced towards Harry. "Wiltshire places in nomination the member from Surrey, Sir Harry James Potter of Surrey." Dumbledore had rarely seen such a mischievous grin directed at anyone in the Wizengamot.

"The member from Surrey," Dumbledore said, his own eyes beginning to twinkle.

Harry stood, looking right at Draco Malfoy. "Withdrawn. I must take this moment to note that a certain witch in my class predicted someone would be stupid enough to nominate me before I finished school. That being said, one good turn deserves another, Baron Amesbury. Surrey places in nomination the member from Wiltshire, Draco Malfoy, the Baron Amesbury."

"The member from Wiltshire."

"Withdrawn, Potter, and I want the name of that witch," Draco replied, to be answered only by a smirk.

Dumbledore almost laughed and had to pause to prevent his amusement from escaping. Only then did he call for the next standing member. "The member from Lincolnshire."

Augusta Longbottom stood and with her usual droll tone said, "Lincolnshire places in nomination, the acting head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Head of the Goblin Liaison Office, Dirk Cresswell."

With a double rap of the gavel, Dumbledore announced, "with the nomination of Dirk Cresswell, acting head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Head of the Goblin Liaison Office placed, nominations are tabled pending the vote on his membership in this body. We will take a fifteen minute recess to allow consulting with staff and fellow members." Dumbledore rapped the gavel twice again.

Once again Dumbledore noticed that Harry and Draco Malfoy appeared to be going around the chamber. Dumbledore hadn't quite noticed it last time, but it looked like they were actually working as a team. Neither of them went to the same people. One of the Surrey pages was among the members as well, delivering some notes, and talking to a few. He hadn't noticed that the first time. Dumbledore looked closer. It was Ophelia Campbell, the minor holder of the Dunbretane seat. Neville Longbottom was also making an appearance on the floor this time, at Harry's side instead of the Princess Margaret.

Dumbledore looked down at the hour glass before him. He bang the gavel twice. "Order. The recess is ended." It took longer for everyone to find their seat this time.. "Is there any member who wished to make a statement before we proceed on to the vote?" Dumbledore scanned the chamber. "Then with no objection, we shall proceed to vote. Please place your voting tokens on your desk to indicate your choice."

Dumbledore figured this one would be tougher. Cresswell would be the first muggleborn to be given membership in three centuries. Inverness, Stirling, Linlithglow, Caredigion, Drefaidwyn,

Meirionnydd, Gaernarfon, Devon, Norfolk, Kent, Essex, Suffolk, Cornwall, Gloucestershire, Staffordshire, Derbyshire, and Cheshire. Dumbledore let out a breath that he had not been aware that he was holding.

"With eighteen objections, the invitation for membership passes," Dumbledore announced. "The secretary shall dispatch the invitation. The floor is once again open for nominations for Minister of Magic. The member from Lancashire."

Nicanor Abbot stood, and after adjusting the collar of his robes, said, "Lancashire places in nomination the member from Inverness, Chief Auror Rufus Scrimgeor."

Dumbledore looked around for another member looking for attention. He bang the gavel once, announcing, "Any more nominations from the floor?" With great slowness, another member started to rise. "The member from Staffordshire."

Pius Thickness spoke with a very dry tone. "Staffordshire places in nomination the member from Stirling, Dolores Umbridge." Umbridge remained seated.

Bang. "Any more nominations from the floor?"

Bang. "Any more nominations from the floor?"

Bang. "Any more nominations from the floor?"

Bang. "Nominations are now closed."

Dumbledore looked down at the list of names. Nine choices meant a longer recess than normal. "We stand in recess for forty-five minutes to allow consulting with staff and fellow members, as well as confirm that Misters Percy Weasley and Dirk Cresswell are willing to serve." He banged the gavel.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

_Yes, the ending point is deliberate. In fact, as of this posting, which of the the nominees will become Minister has not actually been defined. I'm currently writing scene 8-1 which will reveal that. The part was getting too long, in fact it nearly ended up being split, but the first two scenes were too short to do that. _

_There have been some concerns about my delay a day for pure "Post More Soon" reviews. Be aware that it is a method that makes my work turn out better, and other authors who have adopted it over the years, publicly or privately, have said likewise. Don't rush the writer. Any further concerns may be addressed via PM._

_As usual, Compliments, Complaints, Comments, Corrections, and Critique accepted._


	8. Wind

_**Author's Note:**_

_I'm off all of this week, and the muse is working. Assuming that the muse doesn't decide that my vacation is her vacation, expect more by next weekend._

Chapter Eight

Harry Potter's day at the Wizengamot was over. The first part of his day had been interesting, and he thought that he'd done well in the run up to the vote for the next minister. Minister Fudge's traditional resignation speech, however ... he could have done without. Fudge was only cheered when he said "in conclusion," thirty minutes into the speech, which unfortunately was followed by ten more minutes of drivel.

Harry carefully placed the mulch around the newly planted lilies in the memorial water garden. Much to his surprise, he'd found his aunt carefully planting the lilies around the water feature, the design carefully consulted between each planting, when he'd returned from the Wizengamot. Aunt Petunia's hands were darkened by the rich planting soil that she was putting around each plant. He'd never really seen Aunt Petunia get her hands so dirty. Even when it came to her beloved roses, Uncle Vernon did the planting, she did the pruning.

Of course, the real thing that has really surprised Harry was that both his Aunt Petunia and his headmaster were apparently Peter, Paul, and Mary fans. So far he'd been treated to Puff the Magic Dragon, If I had a Hammer, and at the moment, Blowin' in the Wind. It was a song that was really making Harry think, especially since it seemed that they didn't want to end the song.

"How many times can a man turn his head, pretending he doesn't see?"

Despite Harry's testimony, despite the testimony of the Three Wizengamot Death Eaters, despite Cedric's death, Fudge was still denying the return of Voldermort.

"Yes, how many ears must one man have, before he can hear people cry?"

If the Daily Prophet's coverage of Cedric's death did not change Fudge's mind, then what would. If the cries of the victims, the cries of the poor, the cries of the sick did not move him, then what would? Since Harry had taken his seat in the Wizengamot he had heard chapter and verse on what Fudge had ignored, what the bigotry of him and those he associated with had done.

"How many deaths will it take till he knows that too many people have died?"

"The answer my friend is blowin' in the wind. The answer is blowin' in the wind."

Harry put the thoughts of Fudge aside. As of this afternoon, he no longer was Minister, having even given his resignation speech. As he turned to get more mulch, he had to ask Dumbledore, "Professor, does it usually take six rounds to chose a minister?"

"It took sixteen over four days to chose Fudge back in 1990," Dumbledore replied. "This time the candidates were much more polarized than then, and the lesser candidates dropped out quicker. There were twenty-one nominated that time, four from ministry departments, none of which received the necessary votes to become members."

"Then I guess we did a lot better than I could have expected it would, with both of them getting in," Harry said.

"Oh yes," Dumbledore said. "And I think that the exchange of withdrawn nominations between yourself and Mr. Malfoy hid the introduction of your new faction quite well."

"What new faction?" Harry replied. "I haven't finished all of Hermione's briefing on the other members, and she keeps adding to them. I'm not ready to create a faction. Oh, and Draco has decided that for now at least, he's going to use his title, Amesbury, as his last name."

"Draco ... that's the boy who turned in his father, causing him and two other members to be hung?" Aunt Petunia asked, looking up from where she was planting the flowers she was named after. Harry nodded. "Invite him over to dinner, sometime. Vernon and I own him a debt of gratitude."

Harry looked at his aunt like she had grown two heads. The idea that she didn't really hate him was still new to him. The idea that she'd invite a pureblood wizard to dinner was just to much. He was simply speechless.

"I shall send the Baron Amesbury the required forms to update the rolls," Dumbledore replied, as he shoveled more mulch into the barrow. "Petunia, the kitchen staff at Hogwarts tell me that Mr. Amesbury is quite found of custard tarts, and yours are simply divine."

"Mum's old recipe," Petunia dismissed. "Close your mouth, Harry, you're attracting flies."

"I'm afraid that Harry and Mr. Amesbury are somewhat contentious rivals at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said, as Harry started to move mulch again. "Their encounters tend to go, more often than not, to Harry's favor, though it looks like the two have come to a truce and are working together in the Wizengamot."

"I assure you, that Draco's nomination of me was merely an attempt to provide him ammunition this fall," Harry replied, with a smile. The exchange of nominations had actually been the best part of the day's session.

"Yes, and the notes that your page dropped off on the Dunbretane, Wiltshire, Lincolnshire, and Lancashire desks had nothing to do with the nominations," Dumbledore replied. "How did the American Magic Secretary put it ... oh yes, I have bridge to sell, very nice view of Brooklyn."

"I have no idea what Ocie gave to her proxy," Harry claimed. He was fairly certain that it did include a reminder about nominating Percy, but he also expected that it had something to do Cornwall's vote change in the fourth round.

"And you didn't tell Percy that it might be a good idea for him to be in the building?" Dumbledore asked. "One more petunia left to plant."

"I was hoping we could talk about playing professionally," Harry replied. He was due to practice with Percy Thursday afternoon, when none of the committees he was on were due to meet. On Mondays the session was in the afternoon, but the rest of the week there was a morning session, and the afternoon was devoted to committees.

"Play professionally? Play professionally, what," Aunt Petunia asked. There was a bit of dirt on her cheek now.

"Your nephew is quite the Quidditch Seeker at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said. "He's only missed the snitch once."

"Hmmph," Petunia replied. "At least it's not on the telly."

"About those factions," Harry asked, as he put more mulch down. "Hermione hasn't covered them in her briefing yet. You'd think it would at least be in the candidates for minister briefs."

"The factions are not really spoken of much, and many of them are quite small," Dumbledore said. "The biggest is the dark faction, and it consisted of just sixteen members at the beginning of the session. After today, I'd say it's down to twelve members, and I'm not sure who has replaced Lucius Malfoy as the leader of that faction.

"The next biggest is the Ministry faction, which is basically every Wizengamot member who works in the Ministry, though I would not expect Mr. Cresswell to join. It's lead by Director Bones, and I'm afraid those two have been at each other's throats since at least the food fight in their third year.

"Elphias Doge has his own little faction. He usually can pull in four or five votes to his side. It's a very traditional faction, that sometimes carries the traditionalist label, but is more focused on Elphias's own objectives, which according to legend were originally written in between hangman games in History of Magic.

"There is the Welsh Light faction. You may have noticed that Caredigion, Drefaidwy, Meirionnydd, and Gaernarfon all voted with the Dark faction? Well Fynwy, Morgannwg, and Benfro can be counted on voting against them. All seven Irish votes are loosely affiliated with them.

"I have my own faction, though you seem to have stolen Augusta from me." Dumbledore put up his hand, just as Harry was about to protest. "I have no issues with that. I would ask you to join my faction, but perhaps it is best to let you organically work more to your side. None of the other arrangements you are likely to seen in the Wizengamot are more than temporary issues, and I don't think Minister Snowdon is a part of any, yet."

Harry tried to place each of those factions in his mind. Some where easy. The Ministry faction was obviously Bones from Kent, Diggroy from Devon, Scrimgeour from Inverness, and Marchbanks from Aberdeen. The count of the Dark votes was a bit more tricky. "Wait, you said there were sixteen in the Dark faction at the beginning of the session," Harry said. "It's obvious that Malfoy, Macnair and Goyle were three of the departures, but whose's the fourth."

"I believe that Baron Amesbury brought Malcolm Kerr, the member from Dumfries over to your faction, at least temporarily," Dumbledore said, as he began to examine the plantings. "By my count, your faction appears to have six seats currently in it's corner. Dunbretane, Dumfries, the Mearns, Lincolnshire, Wiltshire, and of course Surrey. I could be wrong, of course."

Harry nodded. It did not surprise him that Dumbledore knew exactly who Harry had counted on for the vote for the new members. He had been a bit unsure about Dumfries, but Draco had said that he could deliver that vote. He was pretty sure that Cornwall was at least leaving the Dark faction, as Dumbledore had named it. Harry preferred Neville's name for Voldemort's supporters. Dark Mulchers.

"Petunia, am I correct in that this angel is an incredibly good likeness of Lily?" Dumbledore asked after a minute's silence. "And Harry, the mischievous grin on this one is just like your father's"

Harry watched his aunt move towards the angels to examine them closely. "It is an very good likeness," Petunia said, her voice a bit wavering. "I don't know where you found them, but I know that you really found Dahlia and Lily."

Nervously he looked at his aunt, spying the tears in her eyes. She was crying a lot lately. Uncle Vernon said it was the pregnancy. He looked down at his feet before admitting, "I found some pictures and transfigured them a bit."

"Well done Harry," Dumbledore said, but before he could say more, Harry found himself engulfed in his aunt's hug.

Harry stood there stiff, as his aunt hugged him. "Thank you," she whispered in his ear, barely heard above the breeze, as tears went down her face.. He was in shock. Sure, his aunt had been treating him better since the beginning of the summer. This was the woman who favored Dudley over him. The woman that had confined him to the cupboard under the stairs, and even once taken a swing at him with a frying pan. Harry had to admit, though, that the frying pan swing was well out possibly hitting him. Still, she hated him. This was a touchstone of his life. His aunt and uncle hated him, and only let him live with them because he was related.

The stone cracked, as Aunt Petunia continued to hug Harry. His stiffness disappeared with his aunt's arms pulling him close. Harry wanted to keep believing that his aunt hated him, but with her arms around him, tears going down her face, as she whispered her thanks in his ears, he couldn't believe it anymore. "You're welcome," he whispered back.

...

As the sun slid into mid-afternoon, Pansy found herself out on the grounds of Windsor Castle, within the Upper Ward. She'd been told that the magical wards were strongest there, and as the clouds blew over the castle as she sat in on a patch of short cut grass, she thought she could feel the wards.

The doctors had kicked her out of the room the pregnant girls from Malfoy Manor were in, admonishing her to get some fresh air, walk around a bit, and not come back until after supper. Pansy had to admit that she needed the fresh air. Aside from that night on the balcony at Malfoy Manor, she hadn't really been outside for three months, and that had been the night. Her and Draco's first time had been that night, under the stars after Astronomy.

The smell of fresh cut grass, wafted across the ward, reminding her of the loose hay under Draco's cloak. She felt heat in her cheeks as she remembered that night, how they'd snuck back into the Slytherin dorms, his clothes askew, her panties lost somewhere on the journey. They'd been caught by Professor Snape, resulting in several detentions, many of which ended with them returning to the dorms in exactly the same manner, but before curfew. She was hoping that Draco would be up to repeating it tonight. It had been too long.

"I do not know how you young people manage to do that." Pansy looked up to discover an old lady. Pansy was not entirely familiar with the British Royal Family, but knowing that she was living in one of their residences, she had taken the time to look over some pictures and check the proper styles of address. As she and Draco were living under the personal protection of Her Majesty, the Queen, it was important. Since she had arrived on Friday, though, she had not actually met any of them. She moved to stand. "Please, stay seated. I think I shall attempt the same. Though I may have to call for assistance to stand."

As the old lady moved to take a seat on the grass, Pansy responded to Queen Elizabeth, the Queen Mother, "You don't have to, your Majesty."

"No, and these ninety-four year old bones will protest, later, perhaps," the Queen Mother. "But it is a nice day, with a fairly good breeze, so I thought I might enjoy having tea out on the lawn, in a while."

"Tea?" Pansy smiled. "I haven't had tea in a long time. It's not served to students at Hogwarts."

"That, we must change," the Queen Mother said, sitting down next to Pansy. "My youngest was tutored instead of going to Hogwarts. With the press now days, I don't think we'll be able to get Charles's youngest to go, either. My late husband's brother John did go, but it was a different time. Henry wants to go, my great grandson is unlikely to get his wish, in a couple years. Though, if he hears that there is no tea at Hogwarts, he may change his mind."

Pansy tried to put the names to faces in her mind. The Queen Mother's youngest was easy. Pansy actually was the proud owner of a nearly complete set of the Snowdon comics. Like many young pure bloods girls, the Countess of Snowdon was a hero to her. The boys may have their made up comic book heroes, but the girls had a real one. The name Henry didn't immediately her memory, but she new that Charles was the heir to the throne, and that made his youngest, Prince Harry, the Henry the Queen Mother was referring to. He had been the one to escort her to Windsor.

"That's a shame, because I'm pretty sure he'd replace Potter as the heart throb of Hogwarts, at least among the younger years," Pansy replied. "I know that Hester Thickness, Juliet Yaxley, and Nerissa McNair all thought that he was cute at the Wizengamot Friday. They'll be starting Hogwarts not this fall but next year. Not that they realized that he was a prince."

"That might be an advantage in Henry attending Hogwarts," the Queen Mother mused. "He and his brother have had several issues with being treated differently because of being princes over the years. A place where that is not an issue, is an advantage."

"If it weren't for the Dark Lord, maybe," Pansy said.

"Another Dark Lord," the Queen Mother said exasperated. "I suppose that Margaret is going after this one too. I swear that my daughter can't enter a county without some dark wizard or witch going after her."

Pansy smiled at the Queen Mother's exasperation. "You know, I have a nearly complete set of Snowdon comics."

"Nearly complete?" the Queen Mother asked. "I know she is a comic book hero in the wizarding world, but I expected that it would be more with young wizards than witches."

"No, the boys tend to go for the Martin Muggs comics," Pansy replied. "I collect them. I'm missing the first ten issues, number fifty-two, which is really annoying because that's the last of the South African arc, number one sixty through one seventy-three, three ninety-eight, and the last one, five thirty-eight, I haven't gone to purchase yet."

"We will have to arrange a visit to Diagon Ally later this week," the Queen Mother proclaimed. "I shall have to get a copy myself. Margaret deserves a little something after what the Queen has planned for today."

Pansy had to wonder what the Queen had planned, but she wasn't going to ask. Since she was betrothed to Draco when she was seven, she had attended the Wizengamot regularly with him. She had heard the opening of every session that she attended, "Hear ye, hear ye, hear ye, the Wizengamot stands ready to open the day of its Session on this the day of the year on the reign of her majesty, Queen Elizabeth, the second of that name to reign over the British Isles, Defender of Faith, Lord of all that is Magical." She believed that the Queen had to be the most powerful woman in the British Isles. Of course, she'd also thought that the Queen was a witch at first.

"I see the staff has decided to bring us chairs and a table for tea," the Queen Mother said. Pansy followed her gaze to discover a group of men carrying a pair of wicker chairs, a low table, and a tea setting their way. "Help me up, dear."

Pansy helped the Queen Mother to stand. "In a few months, you'll probably need as much assistance as I do to stand," the Queen Mother said. "Don't push it off. If your man wants to make things easy for you, let him. You will miss it, and regret not letting him, when he's gone." There was a bit of a tear in the Queen Mother's eye as she said that, and her gaze seemed to be focused far away, momentarily.

"I'll remember that, ma'am," Pansy said as tea was poured.

"Yes, well, I hear you have been helping out with the victims of the Death Eaters we are housing. Do you think they would be ready for a visit from myself?"

Pansy considered it for a moment. The girls were still a bit jumpy, especially with the male healers. Around herself and other females they came into contact with though... "Well, I'm not their Healer, or anything, but maybe tomorrow."

"I shall consult with the doctors to be sure, first, of course. Now while we enjoy this lovely day and tea, perhaps you can explain the latest arc of the Snowdon comics. I feel I'm missing something."

...

Percy Weasley carefully cleaned his new broom. He'd never actually had his own broom before. His father had offered to get him one after his fourth year, but Percy had already resigned as Gryffindor's Seeker following the loss against Slyterin, and he didn't believe that his family could actually afford to get a broom for him. Instead he'd asked for his own owl and passed Scabbers off to Ron. If he'd know what he knew now, he would have passed Scabbers off to the DMLE.

He hadn't wanted to believe Ron when he said that Scabbers was Peter Pettigrew. Harry had supported him, and that had been the first real time that he'd split with his father's opinion of Harry Potter. His father had been right. His father deserved the Wizengamot seat more that Percy did.

Percy had grown over the past year to believe that Harry Potter was an attention seeking glory hound. Cedric's last letter, written to be delivered in the event of his death, had set him straight. Ginny had helped hammer that point in. He was sure that some people would see Potter's actions as buying off Percy. It was because of Harry Potter, and a bit of promotion from his good friend Oliver Wood, that Percy was the Seeker for Puddlemere United. He'd been hired as a reserve, but after he was put in during Sunday's game, they had traded the regular seeker to the Arrows. The proxy for the member from Durbretane may have placed Percy's name in nomination and thus arranged for Percy to join the Wizengamot, but it didn't take long for Percy to figure out that Harry was behind that.

It was not what Harry had done for him, unasked, unsought, unplanned for. No, it was Cedric writing about how Harry had told him about the dragons. About how Harry had been there and made sure how all the hostages in the second task were rescued. And it was Harry's tale, obviously heart wrenching, of how Voldermort had killed Cedric as nothing more than an unnecessary spare. No, it was Ginny, reminding him, recounting her first year, recriminating him for forgetting what Harry had done for her, reminding him that if it wasn't for Harry Potter, he would not have his favorite, his only sister.

Now, thanks to Harry, Percy had options that he'd never dared to dream for. The best he'd thought he could be, some day was an assistant to the Minister of Magic. It was something that he would have grabbed with both hands and a permanent sticking charm. Now he had a job that had only been in his most fleeting fantasies in his fourth year. Starting Seeker for the Puddlemere United. Percy smiled. Who would have thought that four eyed perfect prefect Percy, the big head boy, would end up with that job?

As he completed his check and cleaning of his new personal broom, his little sister came down the stairs, having changed out of the dressier clothes that she'd worn to the Surrey Wizengamot Office. Percy could now claim his own seat at any time. As Countess Snowdon had discovered, there was no limit as to how long, and the Queen had to approve the withdrawal of the offer. Given the fact that Percy's bank account was now over 500 galleons richer just because of the Queen's orders, he didn't expect that to happen any time soon. Percy's foot hit a box he'd hidden under the table. He smiled.

Waiting for his sister to pick up her usual snack and glass of pumpkin juice first, he spoke up. "Say, Ginny, would a Firebolt help keep me as your favorite brother?" Percy knew that his sister didn't play favorites with her brothers. They were always her favorite whenever she greeted them. It was a long running joke between Percy and his older brothers that each of them were her favorite, and she knew of it, taking particular glee at working each of them with that line. He pulled out the brand new Firebolt, with her name literally embossed in its handle. The snack and pumpkin juice fell to the floor as he found his sister suddenly in his lap, hugging him.

"Thank you! Now I can actually give Harry a challenge for his job!" Ginny said.

"You're a Weasley, Ginny. Quidditch is in your blood. Harry Potter doesn't stand a chance against you," Percy replied. "Of course, I'm hoping he doesn't go pro any time soon. There are not many who escape Hogwarts with just one lost game, and Krum thinks Harry might be able to beat him, someday."

"Want to play catch the snitch?" Ginny asked. "If it doesn't violate your contract, of course."

"Not a problem, I had Weasley family Quidditch games written into my contract," Percy said, heading for the door. "I'm also allowed to play against Harry and Cho anytime. Of course, we'll be playing with the professional grade snitch, so don't expect it to be easy."

"That sounds like a challenge, Percival," Ginny replied, following him, looking at the handle of her new broom.

"Oh it is, Ginevra, oh it is," Percy replied, mounting his broom. "You, me, professional grade snitch, and equal brooms. I intend to make sure you've got no excuses when I beat you this time."

"That assumes that you're going to win, and you know what they say about that," Ginny shot back, as the two of them shot into the air.

Percy smiled at his sister. He took the snitch, spelled to stay within the property, and released it. "On three," he said as soon as he lost sight of it. "One, two, three."

Ginny dove, and Percy followed her. The wind blew his robes outward, and tousled his hair. With no pressure to catch the snitch, he could let himself go, enjoy the feeling of the wind buffeting him, as he turned into it. Spotting the snitch he turned into a new direction, and his sister reached out with her foot and used a passing tree to make a sharper turn. Together they were neck and neck, heading after the snitch, laughter on their lips as they closed on the elusive winged ball. It escaped from their grasp, as their hands tangled. Separating, laughing they spun around, and the chase resumed.

It was dark before the game was over and Percy reentered the Burrow, arm around his little sister. Hot plates with dinner awaited them. Their mother had not called them in for it. Percy wondered why, but did not ask. Instead he enjoyed dinner with his little sister. As the wind rose, his thoughts briefly passed his earlier musing on Harry Potter. He would have to thank Harry for saving his sister.


	9. Hearing

**Honor to Serve**

_**Author's Note**_

_This may be the longest chapter of Honor to Serve. Don't expect this length again. Also, don't expect the next part soon. The Muse has been shifting rapidly between stories._

**Chapter Nine**

Dudley Dursley awoke to the sound of thunder rolling across Surrey. He wasn't in his own room, but in the Guest Room, asleep on the chair beside the bed. In the darkened room, only lit by the reflection of a street light and an the occasional lightning bolt, he could see his Porta, wearing one of his Smeltings Boxing T-shirts, the covers kicked entirely off of her. For a moment he didn't recall how he'd ended up sleeping in the reclining chair in the guest room, but as lightning illuminated his girlfriend's face, it came back to him.

His father had taken him and Porta to visit Piers at the Hospital. Piers still hadn't woke up. Piers's parents had been constantly at his side since he'd come out of surgery. There was a big bruise of Ford across Piers's chest, and his head was wrapped in gauze. His left eye was swollen, and there was a big bruise on his left jaw. Piers's parents said that the doctor said that it was only a matter of time before he woke up, but he hadn't in three days.

He and Porta had taken a cab home, late last night, to her address, only to discover that Porta didn't have a key. The heavens opened up, just as she tried the locked door. They'd run back to Number Four, slipping in the mud from the garden construction. Laughing, they had tumbled through the front door, discovering his mother waiting. Both had been sent for a hot shower before bed, his mother mumbling that it was a good thing she hadn't started changing the guest room.

They'd started the night in separate rooms, but he'd heard her crying. Dudley could not stand hearing, or seeing Porta cry. He'd always been that way, even when they were both toddlers. Porta's mother had once said that Dudley had been more of a friend to Porta than Piers had. That statement had made Dudley feel good, better than anything his parents had said. His parents thought Dudley could do no wrong. Once, Dudley would have agreed to that. A bolt of lightning illuminated the "Smeltings" logo on Dudley's T-shirt over Porta's breasts. Going away to school had changed that.

At school Dudley had learnt that he wasn't perfect, and it took hard work to achieve anything worth while. It was a lesson that he'd forgotten several times when he'd come home for the summer. Sometimes it took him longer than others. He'd been scared of Harry after his first year, at first. There had been a thought that Harry couldn't have known as much as the giant of a man who had come to deliver his letter, then Harry had let slip that Hagrid had been expelled after his third year. Of course, once Harry had gotten that letter, things had gone back to normal, mostly. Dudley still worried that Harry might do something accidentally.

Another roll of thunder followed a lightning strike. In the last week, Dudley had to wonder where his little sister would be if she'd lived. He'd been surprised to find out that Porta shared the birthdate of Dahlia Dursley. As the thunder rolled across Surrey, his thoughts drifted back to Sunday, when he'd been caught by his mother and forced to look at the baby books. His mother was really looking forward to having another baby, but Dudley really could careless.

Instead this thoughts moved between the new relations that he was dealing with, his girlfriend, and his changed relationship with his cousin Harry. He knew know that the death of Dahlia Dursley, killed by the same group of wizards that had killed Harry's parents, was the major reason why his parents treated Harry the way they had. That and his father's temper. He wondered how it would have been had Dahlia lived. He would have probably treated Harry a lot better, and he was sure that he and Harry would have made sure that no one harmed his little sister.

Little sister. Dudley knew that his mum was going to have a baby girl. Dudley would be half way through university before she started school. It was going to be strange to come home next summer, or even for Spring break and have a baby sister, instead of being an only child. Not that Dudley had really been an only child in the house. Favored child, yes, but Harry had always been there, for as long as he could remember.

Lightning struck close by, with a loud crack of thunder. He didn't know how Porta was sleeping through it. Dudley knew Harry probably wasn't sleeping through it. Harry had always been a light sleeper, unless he was overtired or hurt. Dudley knew he was responsible for way too many of those times.

Dudley didn't know how Harry did it. If he had been treated the way Harry had, there would be no way he would have been able to act like Harry. He was always so polite. Dudley admitted only in the darkest of nights that when he'd been told by one of the Professors at Smeltings that he needed to be more respectful and polite, or he was going to spend his weekends cleaning the Chemistry lab, he'd taken to asking himself, "what would Harry say? or what would Harry do?" when dealing with Professor Sharpe. There was no way that Dudley would have ever volunteered to build a garden for his Aunt Marge, but Harry had volunteered, helped get the materials, and put it together in a grueling long weekend. He still wasn't sure how Harry had gotten on his Dad's good side, though he thought it had to do with the overnight his parents had spent at the Tower of London.

Dudley got out of the chair, went over to the window. It was pouring down rain, and as he watched, lightning stuck the old oak tree in the back of Number Six. The crack of thunder and bold of lightning nearly made him jump. It did, for the first time since the nightmare that had prompted him to sleep in the reclining chair next to the bed, wake Porta. "Dudley?"

He turned to look at his girlfriend, "It's just a storm, Porta." He returned to her side, though, and as the next bolt of lightning struck, mercifully further away, he found her grasping him tightly, her arms pulling him close, as her head sought refuge against his shoulder. He hugged her tightly. It was just a storm, and with Porta in his arms, Dudley Dursley felt right.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore did not expect to be summoned to the Ministry at six am. He also did not expect to be met by an obviously exasperated and exhausted Princess Margaret, Countess Snowdon. "Chief Warlock Dumbledore, please tell me why a writ of habeas corpus is a foreign concept to the wizarding world?" Dumbledore was sure he could see smoke rising from the Snowdon's robes. "I just found out that one Sirus Black, who Minister Major had been informed had escaped from Azkaban where he was serving a life sentence for mass murder, hadn't actually escaped, indeed had not even been tried for the offenses that idiot Fudge had told Major that he was serving time for. What kind of government I have I just taken over?"

Dumbledore took a moment to process the Snowdon's rant. "Hadn't actually escaped?" Dumbledore asked. He was sure that Sirus Black had escaped. He'd seen the man, helped him escape from that fool Fudge's desire to have him kissed within the grounds of Hogwarts.

Princess Margaret nodded, and began heading towards the Department of Law Enforcement. Dumbledore struggled to keep up. "Monday morning, Director Bones took a tour of Azkaban, something that Fudge kept her from doing so for quite some time. She did a full inspection, and upon going to the Questioning Wing, she discovered that there was actually an occupant, who apparent had been moved there at some point in time, Black wasn't exactly sure when that happened, from his regular cell. I suspect that the move occurred about the same time as the idiot issued his patently illegal kiss on sight order.

"Black told Bones that he was unaware of ever being tried. So Director Bones checked. Apparently her predecessor, Couch, didn't even bother bring up formal charges, he just tossed Black into Azkaban, believing that the man was the Potter's secret keeper, and had killed twelve people in broad daylight, trying to escape a friend, Peter Pettigrew ... you might recall that name. It apparently came up when Sir Harry was talking to my nephew Andrew. Apparently even though the finger was clearly cut off, not blown off, they though Black killed Pettigrew. World might have been better off if he had.

"Any way, Andrew pulled out Sir Harry's testimony, and apparently I'm not the only one who was working late. Percy Weasley was trying to clean up his old office, and get ready to had off the job my sister put him back in, assuming I can find someone to fill the job, and heard my mutterings while I was out looking for some tea. Pettigrew apparently hid himself as Percy's rat, who he gave to his brother Ron, who actually saw Pettigrew transform. He's bringing his brother in now, and I want you to witness the testimony, and rule on Sirus as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot."

"I'm not sure I can rule on that," Dumbledore said. "Pius Thickness is the on duty Law Lord this week, and in order for the Chief Warlock to overrule the Law Lords, I would need four more members."

"Director Bones will be there, along with us," the Snowdon said. "I sent Percy's assistant Penny to look in the Wizengamot offices, and got a paper plane back that Baron Amesbury and Lady Longbottom were both in, and they're on their way."

They both entered the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Inside the drab walls of the department's reception room, Dumbledore was surprised at the number of those that were waiting. It was six am. In his experience, his students only got up before six am due to demented Quidditch Captains.

The fact that Draco Amesbury had been in his office this early was a surprise, but the real surprise was that Harry Potter, Ophelia Campbell, Hermione Granger, and Neville Longbottom were there, already. Ophelia was with Sapphire Eagleton, who held the proxy for her. Dumbledore was beginning to think someone was executing a plan. Especially when he spotted Remus Lupin sitting in the corner putting a packet of muggle Earl Gray Tea in his steaming cup.

Ron Weasley wasn't part of the plan, Dumbledore decided when the boy joined them, obviously just out of his bed with his sleep tousled hair and piece of toast in his mouth. "Morning, 'Moine." the boy said as he shuffled into the room.

"Swallow first, Ron," Hermione Granger admonished.

The Snowdon immediately caught the attention of the on duty officer, with a simple look in his direction. "The Director is waiting for you in room thirty-seven. Auror Scrimgeour is waiting with her, Baron Amesbury, and Madame Longbottom. We're still waiting for Sirus Black's solicitor, though."

"Consider her arrived," a woman dressed in a very short black skirt, and form fitting scarlet jacket said. "Solicitor for Sirius Orion Black, Head of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, here to make sure my client gets what he deserves, Anne Howe, at your service ... or at his service, your Highness."

"Then let's get going," the Snowdon said. "I assume that Sir Harry and his friends are here in a witness capacity?" Receiving a nod from them, she continued. "Then Auror Michaels, please make sure they are comfortable here, before we summon them. Miss Eagleton, please join us. An enlarged panel will help us with any conflicts of interest as they may appear."

It took a few minutes before they were all seated behind the table in room thirty-seven, with Sirus Black and his solictor seated at a smaller table across the room. Another small table had a pair of Aurors behind it. Dumbledore looked up and down the row. To his left were Director Bones, Chief Auror Scrimgeour, and Minister Snowdon. To his right was Madame Longbottom, Miss Eagleton, and Baron Draco Amesbury. Assured that everyone was ready, he began. "This is a extra ordinary habeas corpus hearing, not a trial. While the accused has right to counsel, it is the purpose of this hearing to determine if charges should brought and the accused brought to trial. It is not the purpose of this hearing to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that the accused is either guilty or innocent, but that there is grounds to try the accused.

"While normally, it would be the responsibility of the arresting officer and their superior officer to present the charges, most unfortunately, that is not possible. Auror Frank Longbottom is currently in Saint Mungos due to an attack on his family, and shows no sign of recovery even after all these years. His designated superior officer at the time, due to prior action, was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the time, Director Crouch, who is dead. As such, the current head of the said department has appointed replacements, who have reviewed all available data on the arrest, which occurred on the morning of November First, just after six in the morning, nineteen eighty-one. Aurors Shacklebolt and Tonks, do you feel ready to present the case?"

The black auror stood, and answered for them both. "Chief Warlock, Minister, members of the Wizengamot, as Auror Tonks and I have been assigned to head the recent search for the accused, we believe that we are adequately prepared."

"Miss Howe, as solicitor for the accused, do you have an objection to Director Bones's choices?"

"The defense has no issue with these particular replacements, and acknowledges the necessity of their appointment, however wishes to note that due to the loss of the original arresting officer, I wish to remind the panel that all testimony from the aurors comes to us second hand, and must be treated as such. My client's right to face his accuser has been eliminated by the nature of the delay. Thus it should be reflect in the court's viewing of the information presented."

"The panel so notes," Dumbledore replied. "The panel is reminded of the bias against second hand information. Auror Shacklebolt, please state the charges which were stated as the reasons for the arrest of Mr. Sirus Black."

"Mister Sirus Black, last know address being 325 High Street, Godric Hallow, Wales, was arrested by Auror Frank Longbottom on charges of killing twelve muggles and one wizard, Mr. Peter Pettigrew of Number 221D Baker's Street, London, England, by use of an explosive mining spell. Auror Longbottom further charged him with conspiracy in the murder of Auror James Potter and his wife Lily Potter nee Evans. In the Summer of 1993, the Ministry further charged Mister Black with escaping from Azkaban Prison. As we are acting as the charging officers, however, we can not support all of these charges."

The Snowdon spoke up before Dumbledore could. It was the right of the entire panel to question in such a hearing. "Auror Shacklebolt, please explain, why can you not support these charges?"

Shacklebolt picked up a single piece of parchment. It seemed to be lined, with three holes on one side. "On the charge of killing twelve muggles and one wizard, upon testing the wands of Mr. Black and Mr. Pettigrew, it was discovered last night that Mr. Pettigrew's wand cast the blasting curse. We have verified that Mr. Black was using his own wand, and given the location that Mr. Pettigrew's wand was found, Mr. Black could not have been using it. On the charge of escaping Azkaban Prison, we regret that a charge is not possible, as by confining him for such a time his escape, if it occurred, can only be classified as being released on his own orders."

Next to speak, much to Dumbledore's surprise, was Draco. "Auror Shacklebolt, from what you've just told me, the massive man hunt, the orders placing dementors around Hogwarts, and searching the Hogwarts Express ... a search that I, as just a third year student suffered from, was all due to an escape that wasn't really an escape? Just how did Mister Black end up here today?"

"Mister Black was found in a cell in the Questiong Wing of Azkaban Monday Morning."

"It wasn't an escape at all, then," Draco concluded. "Chief Warlock, I move that we strike that charge of escape, as levied by the Ministry in the Summer of 1993, as without basis."

"Any objection?" Dumbledore asked. He looked left and right. "Hearing no objection, the charge is dropped, irrevocably by this panel. Auror Shacklebolt, is it your contention that we withdraw the thirteen counts of murder, of muggle and magical, as well?"

"Given the source of the spell, and the confirmed damage on the recovered twelve bodies, we can not support that Mister Black fired the deadly curse that killed the muggles. That being said, we only have the severed finger of Peter Pettigrew, so we are unable to confirm that he was not killed by the accused."

"That sounds to me like we can reduce the charges to one count murder, magical," Director Bones said.

"Any objections?" Dumbledore asked. "Hearing none, so ordered. The remaining charges are one count murder of Peter Pettigrew, and conspricy to murder Auror James Potter and his wife, Lily Potter nee Evans. Does the charging panel wish to amend this charges?"

"We do not."

"Then, Aurors, what evidence do you give as to these charges?"

"We have the statements of muggle witnesses on the scene who stated, and I quote, 'the man shouted 'You killed the Potters' among other statements. I have the transcripts available." Auror Shacklebolt said.

"Please distribute the transcripts to the panel and the defense," Dumbledore ordered. He waited while Auror Tonks handed out the packets. There was a brief silence as the panel and the defense paged through the packet of parchment.

"Chief Warlock," Solicitor Howe stood, "I must move that all of this testimony be struck as hearsay, from a dubious source. While I have no doubt that the testimony itself was taken accurately, the statements are only given the imprinture of admissibility due to the supposed death of Mr. Peter Pettigrew, thus making him unavailable due to the actions of the accused. However, Mr. Pettigrew is not dead, and the defense can provide witnesses that Mr. Pettigrew was alive as late as the end of the most recent Triwizard Tournament."

"Miss Howe, please name your witnesses, and where they claim to have spotted Mr. Pettigrew," Dumbledore asked. He knew who and where, but he was sure the others on the panel did not.

"At the Shrieking Shack during the last full moon of the 1993-94 Hogwarts term, Professor Remus Lupin, Mr. Ron Weasley, Miss Hermione Granger, Mr. Harry Potter. In the grave yard of Riddle Manor, Little Hangleton, on the last day of the 1994-95 Triwizard Tournament, Mr. Harry Potter. I should note that Mr. Potter's testimony of Mr. Pettigrew's survival is already in the records of the current Wizengamot session."

"So noted," Dumbledore said. "Minister Snowdon, as the lone member of this panel who has not heard Mr. Potter's testimony as to Mr. Pettigrew's survival, do you wish to call any of the witnesses?"

"Chief Warlock, I do not," Minister Snowdon replied. "I accept as fact that Mr. Pettigrew is alive and move to strike the charge that the accused murdered Mr. Pettigrew."

"Any objection?" Dumbledore asked. "So moved. That leaves the charge of conspiracy to murder Auror James Potter and his wife Lily Potter nee Evans."

"Given the basis of this charge, is a the testimony of a man who was believed to be deceased and is not, in fact based on Mr. Potter's testimony before the Wizengamot, spent the last decade hiding as a rodent, I do not believe that the evidence before us is enough to bring charges," Chief Auror Scrimgeour said.

"I believe it is more likely that Mr. Pettigrew deserves this charge," Sapphire Eagleton remarked.

"I agree," Director Bones said.

"If Peter Pettigrew wasn't behind the Potter's deaths, I shall be surprised," Madame Longbottom said.

There was a brief pause after Augusta Longbottom's statement. Dumbledore looked to his right, were the two that hadn't spoken were seated. "Minister, Baron?"

"No objections," the Snowdon said.

"I'm still shocked that they put the Dementors around Hogwarts," Draco said. "Dismiss it all."

"Then without objection, all charges are dropped," Dumbledore ordered. "While the accused does bear the presumption of innocence, he is reminded that an extra ordinary habeas corpus hearing is not a trial, and as such should he be charged again with these offenses, it would not be a case of double jeopardy. This hearing is has adjourned."

Dumbledore was not quick getting out of the hearing room. Sirus Black was already hugging Harry by the time he got back to the reception room. He was swift enough to hear Sirus say softly to Harry, "I told you, Harry, it wasn't a crazy plan. I'm free now, and you didn't even have to testify."

"It was a crazy plan, but I guess it worked," Harry said, pulling away.

"If it's crazy, but it works, it isn't crazy," Sirius replied. "Now, if you don't mind, my Solicitor lost a bet with me some years back, and I'm calling it for breakfast. She's paying and Harry, you and your friends are invited."

"Are you serious?" the Solicitor replied.

"Yes, I am, and you're still a bloody hot lady, Anne Howe," Sirius replied. "But you knew that."

"Sirus!" Howe replied. Dumbledore watched as Sirius's eyes locked with Anne Howe's. He counted to six, silently, then watched her deflate. It always happened. Sirius had always been able to get his way with Miss Howe with just a look. "I never could stay angry with you. How many for breakfast? Seven? You're going to be the death of me, Sirius Black."

* * *

Harry Potter looked across the witness table in the committee room. The witnesses for the Education Committee's hearing on Potions NEWTs achieved at Hogwarts had not yet entered, but it seemed that Sirius Black had found a seat in the row right behind the witness table, right behind where Professor Snape would be seated. Technically, Harry wasn't supposed to be in the room yet, but he had a significant stack of briefing papers that he wanted to be exactly where he wanted them to be, and the staff he had available at the moment didn't know his way of organizing that well. Hermione was still working on full briefs on some of his fellow members, and Ron ... well he'd volunteered to fill a missing slot on the committee staff for the day.

The sergeant-at-arms who announced the arrivals, had been on Lucius Malfoy's staff, and that staff, with one lone exception was still in DMLE custody. So Ron was dressed in the same robes that he had stood guard over Cedric's body in, with the sword, this time at his side, not under his hands. As Harry passed Ron to head out to await his turn for his official entrance, he stage whispered, "Knock 'em dead, Ron."

"Don't tempt me Harry," Ron shot back, then stiffened, as he got the cue. "All Rise for the Wizengamot Committee on Education, the member from Lincolnshire, Madame Augusta Longbotttom nee Sprout, Chair."

Harry found his place at the end of the line. He was actually next to last in seniority, but they entered in order to seat in the right order, and Draco was going on the far end. As he entered, he passed the waiting witnesses, and smiled, focusing his gaze on Professor Snape. He had been looking forward to this. Once passed Snape, he followed the others to behind the table. He waited for Madame Longbottom to take a seat. Despite what she'd asked him to at the end of the morning Wizengamot session, he couldn't quite call her by her first name. Draco might be the only one on the committee that he could, as he was the only one who wasn't at least twice his age. Dadalus Diggle was actually five times Harry's age. He hadn't asked anyone and didn't know how old Madame Longbottom was.

Madame Longbottom pounded the gavel thrice. "This public hearing on Potions Nearly Exhausting Wizarding Test Results for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will now come to order. Mr. Weasley, would you care to introduce the Witnesses to appear before the committee."

"Madame Chair, Baron Amesbury, Sir Harry, other members of the committee, it gives me great pleasure to introduce to you the first half of today's witnesses," Ron began. Harry had noticed the distinct smirk on his best friend's face as he started the introduction.

"Professor Serverus Snape, is the Potions Master for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where he is head of Slytherin House. Professor Snape holds a Mastery in Potions, and is published in several major academic publications. He is also credited with recent enhancements to the Wolfsbane potion, and holds the patent on HBP Stomach Smoother." Professor Snape entered and took his seat.

"Professor Minerva McGonagall, is Transfiguration Professor and Deputy Headmisstress at Hogwarts where she is head of Gryffindor House." Somehow Ron had turned just the word Gryffindor into a cheer in the middle of the introduction. "Professor McGonagall holds a Mastery in her field of Transfiguration, as well as Charms. She is published in several major academic publications, and in 1992 won the Harrington Transfiguration Prize. In addition to her publications in academic fields, the Professor is also published in several educational journals, most notably her analysis on professorial effects on standardized tests published in the March Edition of the Sorbonne Educational." Professor McGonagall favored both Ron and Harry a smile as she took her seat next to Snape.

"Potions Mistress Edwina Eldeburry is owner and sole proprietor of Practically Perfect Potions at Number Eight-Five Diagon Alley. She holds a mastery in Potions, and her store is considered to be the leading source of prepared-on-site potions." A tall thin witch entered. As she passed Snape, Harry noticed that she gave him a glare that should have killed him in seconds.

"Professor Griselda Marchbanks, Dame Commander Magical of Great Britain, Academia Professional of the Maltese Order, is head of the Wizarding Exam Authority. She holds masteries in Care of Magical Creatures, Charms, and Transfiguration." Harry watched as Mademe Marchbanks had to be helped to her seat. Fortunately, Harry had expected that would be necessary, and detailed one of his pages from Hufflepuff, who most fortunately happened to be her great grandson Malcolm. He'd heard Malcolm responding to her protests on his way to the hearing room.

"The second half of the witnesses consists of students of two of today's witnesses, and asked that they be introduced and seated after we are finished with the testimony of the first half," Ron concluded.

"The Committee accepts that request," Madame Longbottom replied. "Thank you Mister Weasley. Opening statements will be in reverse order of seniority. The member from Wiltshire, Baron Amesbury?"

"Madame Chair, I shall keep my statement short," Draco began. "Potions has been a subject which I have enjoyed immensely. I could not see how there could possibly be a reduction in the number of students getting their NEWTs in it. However, before this session, I obtained a full briefing from a trusted member of my year at Hogwarts. Say what you want about Hermoine Granger, no one will ever tell you that she missed a fact in her research, and I say that as her worst enemy at Hogwarts. So I come here today, having only been on the Wizengamot for barely a day, with research that makes me question my feelings. It makes me question how I could feel that Potions was something that students enjoyed. Today, I intend to be enlightened."

"The member from Surrey, Sir Harry," Madame Longbottom said.

Harry picked up a sheet of parchment, covered with writing in his juvenile hand, (and with specks of ink, typical of someone just learning how to write with a quill). "Thank you, Madame Chair. I cannot promise to be as short as Draco was, though. When I started Hogwarts, Potions was a class I looked forward to. This was an art that I figured that I had a chance to excel early in. I knew nothing of the wizarding world, but I knew how to cook, and chemistry, the little I had of in primary school, I was good at it. I'd been told by the fifth year Gryffindor prefect during the sorting feast, that Professor Snape had it for Gryffindors, but surely the professor would not let it get in the way of his actual teaching. That wouldn't be professional.

"So here I was on my first day of Potion's class, and in sweeps Professor Snape, giving a speech so inspiring that I wrote it down, I kept it, and even years later, when I found myself despising Professor Snape, I still remember what he said. You'll pardon me if I do not say it as well as you did, back in my first year, Professor.

"'You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through the human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses. . . . I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death — if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.'

"In that one statement, at beginning of class, it sums my experience. I am apparently one of those dunderheads that the Professor has to teach. At least, that's what my potions grade indicates. So today, I'm going to find out, has Hogwarts been producing an extremely large number of dunderheads, or is it the professor who had me on the edge of my seat, hanging on every word he said, only to dump me as another in a long line of students that he was unwilling or unable to teach."

"The member from Yorkshire, Roderick Danegeld."

"As a Businessman, it concerns me that the numbers of Potions NEWTs holders have decreased. It has even gotten to the point that we must hire from outside Britain to fill good British jobs. Today I intend to get to the bottom of this."

"The member from Edinburgh, Emmeline Vance."

"I got my NEWT in Potions, the hard way, after failing to get an Exceeds Expectations OWL in it. Today, I want to know why the standards have changed, and why there are fewer getting the NEWT outside of Hogwarts as well as inside."

"The member from Norfolk, Dedalus Diggle."

"Potent potable productions is a key to the wizarding world. Perilous production levels must be devastation."

Harry had to roll his eyes at Diggle's statement. The man had to have a poor grasp on sanity.

"The member from Hampshire, Ophelia Hopkirk."

"Potions have always been the one thing my sister had trouble tracking. Indeed most potions making does not register with her sensors. This fact usually makes potions related injuries in the summer the highest level among children attending Hogwarts of any cause of injury. In the last decade this has not been true. In general this fact has been a plus between my sister and I. It remains to be seen if today will convince me otherwise."

"As the chair," Madame Longbottom began, "I scheduled this hearing shortly after receiving a letter from my Grandson, Neville. Recent statistics have led me to wonder about the way the class has been taught. Neville will be testifying later, but right now the question before us is why has the number for NEWT qualified in Potions students finishing Hogwarts dropped by sixty percent over the last decade. We will find out, today.

"I shall begin the questioning. My fellow committee members may ask a follow up question in at any time, with seniority being the tie breaker. Professor Snape, unlike your predecessor, Professor Slughorn, you have in the last ten years limited those in your NEWT classes to those that get an outstanding on their OWLs in Potions. Why?"

"Madam Chair, that is a simplification of my requirements," Professor Snape replied. "The NEWT Potions Lab has twenty stations in it. Therefore, since there is only one class of NEWT potions per year, I can only have twenty students. In 1983, when I issued this requirement, that a student have an Outstanding or their head of house recommends them, twenty students got an Outstanding. This was a high point. Due to declining enrollment, which lasted until the class entering in 1993, that number has gone down, proportionally. Given that trend, I will most likely have room in Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy's class to go down to all of those with Exceeds Expectations. Of course, I really won't know that until the OWL results come out."

Danegeld, the member from Yorkshire held out his hand, getting a nod from Madame Longbottom. "What do you mean, there are only 20 stations for NEWT level Potions? There were 31 NEWT level potions students in my 6th year alone, let alone those in 7th year."

"And there were probably two sections for your sixth year. Each first through fifth year gets three instructional hours in potions, That's thirty hours a week. NEWT potions is five hours a week, sixth and seventh year. That's forty total. That is, it was forty total from 1983, when I took over as the sole Potions Professor from Professor Slughorn, until 1993, when we could not do two sections a year for the first years. This past year, we couldn't for the first and second years. I'm now doing forty-eight hours a week of instructional time. Next year that will actually go up to fifty-six, unless I get an assistant. Unlike Professor Slughorn, I never have had an assistant, save this past year when I drafted four of my Slytherin Sixth years to assist in monitoring the Potions Practicums for First Years."

Vance, the member from Edinburgh got Madame Longbottom's attention by twirling her wand. "Do you think that limiting the maximum amount of NEWTs Potions to 20 per academic year is a reasonable activity for an academic institution?"

"That's half of Mr. Potter's year. Half of the year going on to the highest level of instruction is well above average. My limits are both time and attention required for the class. I assure you that the maximum size in the NEWT potions lab is an international standard."

"And is it international standard to frighten off students with bullying behavior?" Madame Longbottom questioned. "I have testimony from my own grandson, as well as two members of the Wizengamot that your control of the classroom has been less than satisfactory. I've heard of deliberate sabotage-caused accidents – notably one you didn't even acknowledge the injury of a muggleborn Gryffindor! Your blatant favoritism of your house is of legendary proportions. Seventy-three percent of your NEWT Potions classes are Slytherin, amazing since they are only twenty-three percent of Hogwarts sixth and seventh years during your tenure."

"I do not engage in bullying behavior. I run a very strict classroom. If I did not, the list of potions related injuries at Hogwarts would not be down by twenty-six percent since I started teaching." Snape folded his hands on top of the name plate in front of him.

Harry looked down the slightly curved table on the dais were he and his fellow committee members sat at Draco. He'd been surprised when Draco had expressed his opinion of his head of house. It was not one that he'd ever heard from Draco, before. Draco nodded. He'd take the lead. Madame Longbottom nodded back.

"Professor Snape, it has only been two weeks since myself and Sir Harry were last in your class. I agree that you run a strict classroom ... for the other houses. I agree that potion accidents are down, as long as my house didn't cause them. I do not agree, however with your characterization as not engaging in bullying behavior.

"Recently I've found myself reexamining my own behavior. Having a child on the way, and your father hung for treason, tends to cause that, I've been told. I have to admit that I have been a bully. Monday afternoon, I took a deep breath, and I apologized personally to Neville Longbottom, and others that I'd bullied. I have no evidence that you have ever apologized to Neville, Harry, Hermione Granger, Hannah Abbot, Seamus Finnegan, Vincent Crabbe, Mandy Brocklehurst, Ron Weasley, or any of the many of those I've seen you bully in class and out of class. You intimidate them, you deny them care, you insult them, you treat those you find the most flimsy reason to hate as if they can do no right, and deserve no help.

"Do not insult the intelligence of this committee, with two members that have been your class with lies about how your class goes. Harry, I'm sure you have something to say."

Harry nodded. He'd watched Professor Snape's face throughout Draco's comment. It had began with a smile, as if he had expected Draco to stand up for him. It had been lost at 'for the other houses.' Now the man's expression was one of fury, and Harry hadn't even said anything yet. Thanks to Neville, and to a lesser extent, Hermione, he knew what he had to say.

"Professor Snape, I'm not here today to seek out glory, as you have been accusing me of since I arrived at Hogwarts. I am here today to deal with the issue. When I came to Hogwarts, I had no idea what I was getting into. I did not even know I was a wizard until Hagrid told me on my eleventh birthday. I was no celebrity, I was just Harry. I came to Hogwarts to learn how to be a wizard. I come to this committee to learn, to find out exactly why there are issues with the number of NEWT qualified potions graduates.

"You may find it hard to believe. You found it hard to believe that I was not a self-centered fawned-over glory hound, those are your words. After what you just said about your teaching, in front of two members of this committee, sharing the same class with each other for four years under supervision, and I use that term deliberately, I find it hard to believe what you say about anything. You have, however brought up a few points which I think we will need to consider, despite what I see as this committee's increasing disbelief in what you say.

"Madame Chairwoman, I don't think Professor Snape is the only reason the number of NEWT graduates are down. With your permission, I would like for the moment to ask a few questions of Professor McGonagall as follow ups to Professor Snape's statements thus far. I believe that by doing so, we may be able to find some important issues underlying the situation, not just with NEWT classes in Potions, but with others as well."

Harry had been told that follow ups were traditionally only addressed to the person first questioned by the member of the committee, but it was important that some things be asked now.

"The chair yields to the member from Surrey."

"Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape states that he took over from Professor Slughorn as sole professor having been his assistant," Harry began. "Pardon me for my ignorance, but I know of no Professor at Hogwarts with an assistant presently. Is there a need for additional staff, such as another Potions instructor?"

Harry wasn't sure that he'd ever seen McGonagall smile like that before. "Mister Potter, Potions is actually quite in need of another instructor at this time. International standards require that no entry level Potions class have more than twenty-eight students, twenty-five is what British Official policy is generally targeted for Potions. At the NEWT level, twenty per class session is indeed the maximum allowed, hence the current NEWT potions classroom. While in recent years, we have been able to get away with less staff, beginning with the incoming class in 1993, we have been quite stretched.

"Based on the expected incoming class this fall, at the very least we will require an additional Potions instructor, I shall most likely require assistance in Transfiguration, as it has been increasingly hard for me to handle all my duties and teach all the Transfiguration classes. Professor Flitwick is also in need of an assistant in Charms. Herbology, we can still handle for another year, but if the 1996 incoming student count is as projected, Professor Sprout will need assistance as well."

"Forgive me for the accusation, Professor, but you do have three jobs at Hogwarts. How in the world do you have time to get it done as well as you have?"

"Excellent time management, and only needing two hours of sleep at night. Unfortunately, the role of Deputy Headmistress is required to be one of the Heads of House. Otherwise I would have probably convinced Albus to hand it over to Professor Vector. Head of House is given to the senior professor hailing from each house."

"Professor, do you believe that Hogwarts has been adequately staffed for the past few years, especially in Potions?"

"No, I do not. Severus has needed an assistant for at least the past two years. In my professional opinion, Potions, even when we are at the record low attendance that we were in you second year, should always have an assistant professor. I also believe that Heads of House should have an assistant."

"I see. And have you expressed this to the Headmaster?"

"Yes, and to the Board of Governors. Unfortunately the Board has not authorized the additional positions."

"Do you expect this problem to continue this year?"

"No, I do not. With the Baron Amesbury having inherited his father's seat, and five of his father's chief supporters having also left the board, I expect a much greater approval rate of changes than have occurred in the past score of years."

"Madame Chair, I have no further questions at this time," Harry said. He hadn't known that Draco was going to be on the board. He'd have to talk to Neville about how that could change things. He wrote a brief note to Hermione for a briefing on Hogwarts Board of Governors. She'd probably refer him to _Hogwarts, a History_.

Not a single question was addressed to Professor Snape the rest of the hearing.


	10. In the Storm

Honor to Serve

_**Author's Note**__:_

_I know you want to know what happens to Snape. Unfortunately, those results take time, and the next two chapters all occur within 18 hours of the end of the hearing. Instead, I give you Voldemort's response to the loss of three of his best. I also give you a typical first encounter between a dark lord and the Snowdon. Evil Overlord Conventions apply, after all, she is a comic book hero._

* * *

**Chapter Ten: The Storm**

The storm raged over Great Windsor Park, trees swaying as the rain lashed wind blew. Pansy had woken up that morning to the rain, thunder, and lightning. She'd clung to Draco in the still unfamiliar room they shared in Windsor Castle, as guests of the Queen. It had calmed down through most of the day, into a gentle rain, pattering on the roof and windows of the ancient royal residence.

Now, the wind was back, blowing hard as Pansy stood near the Castle's apparition point. Through the window, the flash of lightning appeared, followed by not one, not two, but at least six cracks of thunder. The thunder rolled, and the lightning rolled over the wards. Pansy swore that she could see the dome of the wards in the sheets of rain coming down outside, as she stood by the window with the Queen Mother.

A crack echoed in the room, not of thunder though. Countess Snowdon appeared on the point, along with Pansy's Draco. The Countess looked up, first towards her mother, then at the lightning lighting up the wards. "How long has that been going on?" Snowdon asked, looking directly at the Queen Mother.

"About ten minutes," the Queen Mother said. "I'm not sure the wards are going to hold in the Upper Ward."

Snowdon cast a wordless spell, and her wand lit up with a pale yellow light. "Right. We've got about ten minutes, but they'll only be able to get into the courtyard." Another silent spell, and a white spectral owl left her wand and headed off through the walls. "Edward should be coming soon, but I don't think soon enough. Make sure the Queen is in a safe room. Draco, Pansy, I'm not going to ask you to fight, especially you, Pansy, since you're pregnant, but if you are, join me in the court yard in the next five minutes."

As the Queen Mother departed, the Snowdon swirled her cloak, and suddenly she was dressed in white robes with iridescent snow flakes stitched in them. A white feathered mask appeared over her eyes with blue lenses protecting them. For just a few seconds, Pansy thought of asking for an autograph. The thought changed. Yes, she was pregnant, but not that far along to be a problem. The doctor had not told her she couldn't do anything. So she was going to do something. "I'm in." The tone was firm.

Pansy looked at Draco, daring him to tell her no. The glare was enough. He nodded. "Tomorrow we'll talk about things." He turned to Snowdon. "I'm in."

"Care to be an owlet?" Snowdon asked with a twinkle in her eye, looking at Pansy. It was a twinkle that Pansy had only seen done by Headmaster Dumbledore before, when she'd gotten caught in her second year. There were some that said that twinkle was a sign of a powerful wizard or witch.

Pansy couldn't resist. "Yes."

Her Draco, shook his head as the Snowdon transfigured Pansy's robes. Her cloak changed to a feathered brown and white pattern, and her robes a lighter brown. The hood of her cloak rose, but did not obscure her vision. A black mask appeared over her eyes. "There. Consider yourself deputized, as my owlets in the Americas said."

Out into the rain, they went, Pansy sparing a glace to her Draco. He still had the robes, patterned on those the Weasley brothers had worn at Cedric's laying at state, on. The cloak, though was green, and under it Draco wore a white shirt with green epaulettes and matching green trousers. Pansy was sure that Draco's prized Welsh Green dragon hide boots were not going to be shining when he was done. It was about as fare as you could get from Death Eater regalia and still be within wizarding fashion.

The Snowdon pointed them to their places, near the center of the court yard in the Upper Ward. They drew their wands and waited in the rain.

It was not a long wait. Less than a minute after they took their place, there was a loud clap, as the wards over the Upper Ward fell. Sparkling motes of light drifted downward, as the snap of another ward rising over the Round Tower behind them occurred.

Pansy raised her wand, ready to cast, ready to hex, anyone who invaded Windsor Castle. Her Draco stood on the other side of the Snowdon, ready to respond as well. The Snowdon let out a low cry of an owl that echoed off the buildings of the Upper Ward.

Cracks filled the air, and three figures appeared. The center one could be no other than the Dark Lord himself. Pansy could not say, nor even think his name, but her wand stayed raised, as she looked at the snake like vestige of the risen dark lord. Potter's description his red eyed nemesis was quite accurate. At the Dark Lord's left was a Death Eater who's robes she knew, even with the mask covering his face. It was not her turn to speak though.

"Tom Mavolo Riddle, the so-called Lord Voldermort, we meet at last," the Snowdon said. "I do hope you don't intend to run away this time."

"Countess Snowdon, I assure you that this time there will be no interruptions," the Dark Lord said. "Shall we duel?" He bowed.

"We shall," the Snowdon said. "At the next lightning?" The Dark Lord nodded. "Then prepare yourself."

"And Father, I think it is time we have a reckoning, as well," Pansy said to the man across from her.

"What can you do, little girl?" her father sneered.

Pansy wasn't sure she could beat her own father, the man she had been afraid of all her life. But she had Draco at her side now, and the Snowdon had made her one of her owlets. She wasn't going to let them down. She knew that the Snowdon had become the Royal Wizard at just fourteen. Pansy was older than the Snowdon had been when she became the Royal Wizard. She could do this. She knew her father, but her father had never seen her stand up for herself. He'd never seen her duel. Pansy had been the dueling champ for her year in Slytherin since her second year.

On the other side of the Snowdon, she heard her Draco exchanging words. "It looks like the Quidditch team is going to require a new chaser," he said.

"Don't you mean seeker?" the Death Eater across from Draco said.

"I don't think so," Draco said, just before lightning stuck.

Pansy opened with a flame curse, cast silently. Her father was surprised. Pansy was sure that he hadn't expected her to cast so quickly. Her fast cast and several spells she had learnt to cast silently had been how she had run the tables in dueling the past spring. She'd even beat Bole, who had been a seventh year to her fourth. She wasn't worried about Draco. He'd finished right behind her, and there was no way that Warrington was going to beat him.

Her father had to put out the flames before he could respond, and Pansy didn't let up. She followed up quickly, "Reducto! Protego!" Her father twisted to avoid the curse, and fired back with an attempt to disarm her. It bounced off her shield. Pansy smiled. "Confrigo!" She'd never done the spell in a duel at Hogwarts, but she put all her power into it, feeling all her confidence in it.

Her father flew across the court yard, impacting the entry to the State Apartments. He didn't get up. Pansy kept her eye on him, moving towards the man who had decreed that she should not have Draco's child. Her attention was split, though, as the Snowdon was fighting the Dark Lord, and Draco was still at work with his opponent.

Suddenly Draco shouted out, "Expelliarmus!" and the Death Eater who had been his opponent shot back towards the Royal Apartments. Draco neatly caught his wand with his off hand and followed up with a silent binding spell.

Pansy did the same to her father, now that Draco's actions has reminded her. She stepped up to the side of her Draco as both of them turned to face where the Snowdon was fighting the Dark Lord. Above them, the wards were slowly repairing themselves. Two out a three victories had assured that the ancient wards, once broken, would rise again for the Royal Family.

Crackle. Snap. Bang. Hiss. Flame and water, light and dark, still the Snowdon fought the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord was strong, and his attacks varied, constantly changing. The Snowdon was more experienced, and had fought more dark lords of his ilk than many heroes of the light. Age was not a factor. In fact, both of them would have been in the same class at Hogwarts, if the Snowdon had attended the school.

The Snowdon had once been curious, and asked the Sorting Hat which house she would have been sorted in. The comic that that story had been told in, issue 170, had surprised no one. Pansy figured that it would have been an epic rivalry between the Snowdon in Gryffindor and the Dark Lord in Slytherin.

Lightning stuck the ground, just missing the Dark Lord. The Snowdon was smiling. The Dark Lord was not. Another bolt struck, and the Dark Lord bowed. "You have mastered me, for now," the Dark Lord said, and in a wisp of smoke, he was gone. Above the Castle the wards snapped into place again and went invisible.

"Why do they always do that with the first attack on me?" the Snowdon asked to the empty air.

* * *

The pain in Harry Potter's scar had ended shortly before he was due to join his aunt and uncle for dinner at a rather exclusive restaurant. Harry was paying for it, so there was no way he was going to be late. He'd been a little surprised that Uncle Vernon had suggested going to a French restaurant, but after that suggestion, Harry had chosen the best one he could find. He was quite fortunate that his fellow Tri-Wizard Champion had answered his letter so quickly.

Fleur had recommended La Gavroche off Upper Brook Street in London. Not only that, but she offered to make the reservations for him, knowing how busy he was in the Wizengamot. He was quite certain that was going to cost him a pretty penny, but it would be worth it. A quiet dinner with his aunt and uncle, with whom he was finally getting along with, that he didn't have to cook.

Harry wasn't sure why his Aunt and Uncle had suggested that they have dinner away from Number Four. He did know that Dudley had a few plans, that Harry was quite sure that should his mother at least find out about would result in a less than pleasant reaction. He hoped that Dudley had chosen the option that was less likely to go wrong.

Harry put down his umbrella as he stepped into the building. He'd traveled to this part of London via the flue located in the Marks and Spenser store's hidden Wizengamot clothing section in their flagship store off Oxford Street. He couldn't resist purchasing some of a rather new pig shaped confectionary, for use the next time he encountered his predecessor as Gryffindor Seeker.

The five block walk in the rain had been mostly boring, though he had went a little too far down Audley Street. Fortunately one of the United States Marines at their Embassy had been nice enough to point him in the right direction.

His aunt and uncle were waiting for him, but from the looks of Uncle Vernon's coat, only just barely. "Potter, party of three, I assume?"

Hermione had recommended that he keep his aunt and uncle off balance a bit. With either his Wizengamot salary, or the interest from his mostly untouched vault, he could afford a weekly dinner or two like this. Hermione had told him that such dinners after sessions were not uncommon, but Harry had never eaten at such a posh place. He figured it was better to try the place with his family than with another Wizengamot member.

Aunt Petunia appeared to be quite interested in the menu. Her eyes seemed to light up as she read it. Uncle Vernon, on the other hand, had an expression of resigned acceptance. Harry was sure now that despite the fact that Uncle Vernon had suggested it, it was because of his aunt that he'd done so. Despite the fact that Vernon was in upper management, Harry was well aware of his uncle's preference for pub grub. He'd had to cook it, after all.

With the menus before them, it didn't take long for them to decide on their meal. Summoning the waiter, Harry ordered first. "I'll have the Sole Grillée et Langoustines, Aubergine Fumée

Sauce Vierge au Balsamic Blanc. Sadly, I'm too young for the wine list, so perhaps a tall glass of sparkling water?"

"Very well, sir," the waiter said. "And you madame?"

Aunt Petunia had been practically drooling over the menu. He'd told her that he expected her to order what she wanted, regardless of Uncle Vernon's wishes. So Harry wasn't surprised when she began, "Well, I'm eating for two, so I'd like to start with the Coquilles St. Jacques Grillées et Minestrone de Palourdes, and follow up with the Homard Sauté et son Jus à la Citronelle et Coco. The Doctor says I should avoid wine, so I think I shall follow in my nephew's footsteps and have sparkling water."

"And you?"

Harry was sure that his uncle had changed what he planned to order at the last possible minute, probably because he wasn't sure he could pronounce it right. "I'll have the Râble de Lapin et Galette au Parmesan, and a glass of the Côte-de-Nuits Villages, unless you think there is a better match?"

"Mounsier, you are quite correct given today's listed selections," the waiter replied. "May I suggest the Le Plateau de Fromages Affinés to nibble on as you await your entrees?"

"Certainly," Uncle Vernon said, as he handed over his menu. "My nephew here, though he considers himself not yet of age for the wine, may need a bit of an education as to the appropriate choice."

"The young gentleman would find either the Chateau Roubine "Terre de Croix" Semillon or Pouilly Fume appropriate for his meal, though the Vouvray Sec "La Dilettante" would not be an inappropriate choice given the particulars of his dish."

"Thank you, I think Harry could stand a small glass of the Chateau Roubine," Vernon said, before turning back to Harry as the waiter left. He took a deep breath, and Harry could tell that his uncle was preparing to say something he found hard to say. "I know I have not been what I should have been to you since you came to live with us, Harry. I was an angry man, and I blamed you, a baby on our doorstep, for what those Death Eaters did to my baby daughter. I was wrong. There is nothing I can do to change the past, and I don't deserve your forgiveness.

Uncle Vernon looked down at the place setting. "I had two heart attacks this past February. I spent three weeks in the hospital recovering from an emergency operation after the second. The doctor said I had loose weight and get my anger under control. He recommended Doctor Perks."

Vernon reached over and took Aunt Petunia's hand. "I felt like my whole world was crashing. Then Pet told me she was pregnant. I had something new to live for again. I started looking at my life, really looking at it. Doctor Perks really helped, especially after he told me that his daughter was in your class at Hogwarts."

"Sally-Anne?" Harry asked. The idea of his uncle finding out that his psychologist's daughter was in his class. "Her father is your doctor?"

"Yes," Uncle Vernon said as the selection of cheeses arrived and were placed on the table. "Hard as it might seem to you, finding out that my doctor had a magical daughter at your benighted school was actually a good thing. I did have a bit of a break at first, but that cute little girl, well it was hard to see her as a witch, and a different perspective on everything helps. Judging from your nightmares some nights, you might benefit from him too."

In the silence of the next few minutes, Harry considered it. It seemed like he had nightmares of one type or another all of his life. He lived between bouts of stress. If it wasn't for his Firebolt, and Quidditch, he wouldn't have anything that he really could relax in. There was also the Dark Lord after him. His life was not sane.

The silence was broken by the arrival of their dinner. The topic was not picked back up though. Instead, Uncle Vernon brought up their visit to the Tower, and some things they had seen on the way there and back, despite their "manic driver."

Through the whole meal though, Harry's thoughts kept going back to Vernon's words. 'You might benefit from him too.' He'd lived from trauma to trauma, he'd grown up abused. Until he had arrived at Hogwarts, he believed that no one would support him. He believed that he would never have friends. Now, he knew that was not true. He had friends.

First there was Ron, not always the most faithful friend. He was a bit prone to be jealous at times, and he was definitely a drag on Harry's grades, at times. Of course he's next friend, Hermione helped him balance that part out. If Harry needed to know something, he knew that Hermione would know it. She was a girl, something that was a fact, but hadn't really been on Harry's radar, much. Recently, though, he found himself reacting to that now quite obvious fact, more often that he really felt comfortable admitting.

Then there was Neville. Shy, tentative, Neville, with the green thumb, who always seemed to be on the edge of the group, never quite joining them. Until, that is, politics got involved. Neville was a font of information on that, and Harry had found Neville's company to be more comfortable than with either Ron or Hermione. The former, Harry still felt a little unsure about if he'd be there for him, and the latter, well there was that physical reaction. Harry shook his head to clear it.

Harry wasn't quite sure about Draco yet. He wanted to be friends. There was something about the idea of making friends with his Hogwarts rival that appealed to him. Harry knew that Draco had effectively cut his ties with Voldemort. He'd even dropped the name that he'd heard Ron use so often like it was a curse word. There was someone who needed more help than Harry did.

The meal was quite enjoyable, even with his mind distracted. He'd never quite heard or seen his aunt and uncle like this. Uncle Vernon kept reaching over to squeeze his aunt's hand, and once Aunt Petunia had actually giggled. Aunt Petunia was not supposed to giggle. Uncle Vernon was not supposed to act reasonable. These were pillars in Harry Potter's world, and they were gone. It was good that they were gone, but Harry found himself adrift as he intercepted the bill. This was the Potter party, after all, not the Dursley party.

He signed his name to the receipt before stepping out of the restaurant. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were going to spend the night at a nearby hotel, as the dinner had been quite late. Too late to drive back to Surrey, as Uncle Vernon had said. Harry was flueing home, thought he'd have to walk back to Oxford Street.

He hadn't gone three steps when an gilded bald eagle with an eleven meter wingspan landed in the next intersection.

* * *

Dudley Dursley carefully moved the dinner he'd just heated from it's package onto the plates. He couldn't cook like Harry. Dudley firmly believed that Harry was the best cook in the house, not that he'd ever tell his mother that. Dudley could heat up prepared dinners from the store, though. He moved the plates over to the table, and lit the candles. He dimmed the lights a bit, then called out, "Porta, time to eat."

Porta had not been able to go home to change. Her parents had been at the hospital all day with her older brother Piers. Piers had woken up around three, and Porta had gotten the call from her parents at four. That's when Dudley had decided to do a special dinner. He'd told her that it would be by candlelight. She'd told him that she would be ready for the romantic dinner.

Dudley had just started his mother's record player, when Porta entered the room. She wore one of Dudley's plain sleeveless shirts, a deep green one that was long on Dudley, but on Porta's six inch shorter form, it was practically a dress. She'd found a red rope somewhere, and tied it around her waist. Her feet were still bare, and she seemed to be gliding into the room, no dancing. She slid up against Dudley, as the music swelled. A light kiss on his cheek, and she moved to chair.

Dudley pulled it out for her, and she took a seat. On a whim, Dudley knelled slightly beside her, and raised her hand to his lips, bestowing a kiss on it. Porta giggled as Dudley stood. As he took his seat opposite her, he smiled and reach across the table, like he had seen his parents due the past few weeks, his hand gently cupping over hers.

They ate in mostly silence. Words didn't seem to be necessary. Bare feet met trainers, then socks, under the table. Hands touched again. The candles burned, their light lending a romantic glow, hiding the troubles of the last few days in the shadows of the room.

Trouble would return, but under the candlelight in Number Four, the world and its troubles were far away. Once the house had been referred to as Azkaban South, but tonight it was an oasis of calm in the middle of the storm.

In the morning, his parents would come home. In the morning, an aged headmaster would stop by to see how the garden had faired. In the morning the papers would arrive with the news of the night. In the morning, his cousin would limp through the door. In the morning, nothing would be the same.

Tonight though, it was Dudley and Porta, alone, together, an isolated world in the middle of the storm.

* * *

_Author's Note: The muse seems to be settling on this story for a while, so as long as she doesn't get any chocolate, you can expect regular updates. Especially since next week I've got off._


	11. Hearts

**Honor to Serve**

_**Author's Note:**__ Production on this story is down at the moment because I need to get _Neville Reads the Prophet_ caught up. Do not expect more with this story until that story reaches the edition of July 6th._

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

Puddlemere United had been playing the Chudley Cannons since six post meridian Tuesday. It was now six antemeridian the next morning. The rain was soaking his bones as he searched for the snitch. The coach had in put his backup overnight, and he'd only returned to play an hour ago. When he was on the bench, he'd spotted the snitch six times, including once when it had literally crossed in front of the Cannons' starting seeker's eyes.

Percy had been surprised when they'd traded away his predecessor for the reserve seeker and reserve keeper of the Kestrals. Puddlemere's starting keeper at the time had just been taken out for the season due to concussions. So Oliver was now backed up by a new guy named Paul "Tiny" Engebretsen. Oliver had the job firmly in hand, as Tiny needed to learn to block other hoops, instead of just the center one. Oliver had only got a two hour nap out of that rotation. Chudley had gotten 160 points out of it. The only reason it wasn't higher was it was very hard to score in pounding rain.

The score was now 1050 to 1010 in Chudley's favor as Percy quartered the field. His opposite was following a similar pattern. It was nice not to go against a seeker that stalked him. Of course Percy kept one eye on his opponent, just in case he actually spotted the snitch. It wasn't likely. Percy was sure that once Puddlemere's chasers regained the lead, his captain would ask to call the match. Chudley's captain had certainly asked, and would find it hard to say no.

Percy suddenly felt a deep chill in his bones. It was summer time, so the ice suddenly forming on his broom wasn't right. All happiness seemed to seep from his body. He'd felt that feeling before, on the Hogwarts Express, and again when watching Hufflepuff versus Gryffindor in his seventh year. "Dementors on the pitch!" he cried out, as he reached into his robes for his wand.

The Patronus charm was considered NEWT level, but Percy knew that in his third year Harry Potter had managed that charm. It was one thing that he respected about Harry Potter even when he'd been in the midst of what his sister called his githood. It had emboldened him to try to learn the charm in just the few weeks before his own NEWTs. He'd managed to get some diffuse steam, not the full patronus, at the time. It was worth an Outstanding on that NEWT's practical.

It was a matter of pride that he continued to work on the spell. He'd actually written Harry asking how he did it once. Above the Quidditch Pitch, as the dementors closed in, he put all that practice, all that advice to use. "Expecto Patronum!"

It is said that a fully corporeal patronus takes its form based on the soul that of the caster. Harry Potter's was a stag, the representation of his father. Above the stands, Percy Weasley cast a fully corporeal patronus that revealed depths that few had seen. It was shimmering, blurred, and it seemed to be edged with a soft glow. The dull pewter hue gave notice that it wasn't as it should be, and wasn't quite to standard, but its eagle's wings spread widely, and its claws were glistening sharp. It was not the cry of the eagle, but the roar of a true Gryffindor Gryffin, not seen in the isles for centuries, that filled the stadium, at Percy's command.

* * *

If there was one thing that Ron Weasley had looked forward to the whole school year, it was the fact that his father had agreed to letting him go to a Cannons Quidditch Match as long as he could pay for his own ticket, in the summer. Ron had carefully saved enough for tickets and snacks. He was proud that he'd managed to not only save enough for good seats, he'd saved enough for the all you can eat game snack pass. It was a little expensive, and if his mum knew he'd bought it, well the game had lasted twelve hours thus far, so he was probably going to come out ahead.

Ron focused his gaze on Puddlemore's seeker. When Percy had been hired, Ron knew which game he was going to attend. Once the game started though, Ron realized that his choice had led to a bit of a dilemma. Ron was a tried and true Cannons fan. His blood ran orange, as the fan club said. He did not believe it was time to cross your fingers and hope for the best, he knew that his Cannons were going to conquer, no matter how many times they'd proven to do otherwise.

Ten more points and the Cannons would take forth place in the league. This week had been very good the Cannons so far. On Sunday they'd defeated the then leaders in the league, Appleby, by an amazing 1520 to 120. They'd gone from eleventh to sixth with just that game. Monday had them just thirty below Ballycastle, and Falmouth had been only three hundred above them. Since the Fridge had taken over at Keeper, and with Tinkers, Evers, and Chance in at Chasers, there were only two things that the Cannons needed. If they could find a better pair of beaters and a seeker who could actually see two inches in front of his face, Ron believed they would win the league. Unfortunately Puddlemere had hired Percy, and Harry needed to finish school first.

Of course, the Fridge didn't seem to be having a lot of luck against Puddlemere. The Quaffle soared though the left hoop, bringing Puddlemere up to 1020, only thirty behind. "10 points for Puddlemere United, they're getting close again, Cannon-on-ons!" the announce said. Ron didn't like the current Cannons announcer. He found the way the announcer said Cannons annoying.

As Ron started to look away from the box, there was an explosion, and the announcer flew without the aid of a broom in a high arch on to the pitch. Screams filled the stadium as explosive spells hit around the edges of the stadium. Panic begin to spread, and Ron felt a deep chill, a familiar chill in his body. He looked up, and saw something though the rain that he'd hoped to never see again. The Seeker, his brother this time, was casting a patronus.

* * *

Above the stadium, Percy Weasley herded what dementors he could with his gryffin patronus. There was too many. Too many dementors, too many people, for him alone to clear the field. He was determined, though, as he dived, projecting the griffin before him. The roar of his patronus, an addition he'd added for his Arithmancy NEWT, seemed to have an anticipated effect on the dementors. Normally, the dementor would encounter then gild away from a patronus. The roar had them turning, seeming to see the patronus. To some, on the edges of the stadium, it called to them briefly, distracting them from their task, but once the patronus got closer, they too were driven away.

Percy could tell that his patronus had an effect, but not enough. He dived, directing his patronus in front of him, trying to clear a knot of them that where heading towards the hoops on the Chudley side. Oliver, with just the patronus haze moved to cover his left flank, and much to his surprise, Tiny had taken to the air to cover Percy's right flank. Together they began to escort dementors out of the stadium.

* * *

Ron Weasley did not really know how to cast a patronus. He'd never really tried, actually. He had heard Hermione describe the process, but more importantly, he'd heard Harry tell about the night that he'd saved Sirius. He knew Harry had had trouble casting it. He also knew that Harry said that it required supreme confidence that you knew that you could do it.

Ron was not a boy who often had supreme confidence in himself. With dementors on the pitch, their deep chill already reaching him, he should have been in panic, ready to bolt. Ron was not, even when he spotted the dementor descending towards him. Four years of being Harry's sidekick had created a well of courage, of stoutheartedness, that he would not let anyone down when the time came. Recalling the feeling he got when Harry thanked him, he cast, "Expecto Patronum!"

Most people failed at their first attempt. Ron Weasley would have been one of them, if he had not become accustomed to succeeding in do or die situations. He was a boy who was willing, even in his first year, to put his life on the line. It was a do or die situation, and Ron knew it. So the terrier that shot out of his wand to chase the dementor away only surprised him in its form. He'd kind of hoped that he'd have something big and impressive like Harry's stag.

That was only a moment's thought, as he directed his patronus to force the dementor away. The dementor turned away, looking for other, targets, only to run into the trio of patroni of Percy and his teamates. Four patroni were enough to make short work of the dementor, causing it to simply fall apart, pieces of it's cloak drifting towards the pitch, the cold feeling of its approach replaced by the warmth spreading from the increasing number of patroni in the stadium.

It was not just the dementors attacking the stadium, though. Ron found himself dispelling his patronus, as two death eaters appeared nearby. With a cry of "Expelliarmus!" one of the death eaters found himself flying without the aid of a broom over the pitch.

The other turned to face Ron, and he felt a brief stab of fear in his heart. He heard the death eater cry out, "Reducto!" Somehow, Ron found himself dodging the spell. Behind him he heard something explode, but he didn't have time to look. He did smell a strong scent of pumpkin.

"Petrificus Totalus!" Ron responded. He'd practiced that spell since Hermione had used it on Neville during his first year. He was good at it. Nine times out of ten, perhaps a little more, he could drop two of his older siblings with it before they had time to respond. The death eater's arms and legs snapped together and he fell, sliding down the steps before coming to a halt at the rail.

Ron looked around. There were no more death eaters he could see, but Voldemort's mark floated above the stadium. As he watched, his brother flew through the mark, disrupting it with his patronus, which seemed to grow larger as it did so.

The attack was over. Ron wasn't sure what all happened, especially when he found himself suddenly being kissed by Susan Bones. His last thought before he let himself dissolve into the kiss was that he was sure Harry hadn't gotten anything like this for saving a girl.

* * *

As the last dementor left the stadium, Percy let his patronus dissolve. He let his broom drift over the stadium, cataloging the damage. The announcer's booth was gone, and several suites appeared to have been blasted. He was sure that at least a few spectators had been cursed or kissed, and his opposite on the Cannons lay on the pitch, staring up blankly, either in shock or kissed. As he cataloged the damage, he heard an annoying buzzing sound by his right ear. His hand shot up, and captured the snitch.

The referee's whistle ending the game had never been such a strange sound.

* * *

Draco Malfoy woke up in bed with his Pansy. It was the first time he'd slept the night through with her. They had their own rooms at Windsor Castle, but after the fight the previous night at the side of the Snowdon, Pansy had not wanted Draco to leave.

So Draco had greeted the morning sun with the woman who was having his baby in his arms. Her body pressed up against him, and his arms kept her close. The smell of her namesake flower filled his nose as he took a deep breath against her dark hair. The Malfoy magic had long kept the heirs of the family blond, but secretly, Draco preferred the dark hair of Pansy and her mother.

Much as he wanted to stay in bed with Pansy, he knew he couldn't. The sun coming through the windows reminded him that he had to get to the Wizengamot today. Pansy could, and should sleep in. He untangled himself from her, and carefully slid out from under the covers. Somehow he managed to do so without waking her.

He picked up his discarded clothes, sliding back on his boxers, and carefully left the room for his own. It didn't take long at all for him to return to his room, obtain his clothes for the day, and slide into the shower.

Draco wanted to take the shower head with him when he left Windsor. He loved the way that it eased the kinks out of his back after a long day sitting at the Wizengamot. He knew that this Thursday was going to be a long day. He had two committee meetings in the afternoon, unfortunately they weren't ones with Potter. He'd managed to keep the seat on the Justice Committee, and had somehow been appointed to an ad-hoc committee with Dadalus Diggle and Amos Diggory on Potions instructions. Apparently there were issues with bad information out there.

Stepping out of the shower, Draco dried himself with a quick charm. He was glad that he didn't have to worry about the charge of Underage Magic anymore, not that anyone was watching Windsor Castle for Underage Magic. He donned his Wizengamot robes, checked his hair, and headed towards the floo.

When he arrived at the Ministry, it was bustling with activity, unusual for this early in the morning. Draco picked up a copy of the Daily Prophet and only had to glance at the headline to discover why. He immediately headed for the Wizengamot chambers, not bothering to stop at the Wiltshire offices.

The Wizengamot was already in session, and it didn't sound like it was a normal session at all.

"Order! Order! Order!" Dumbledore's voice sounded horse, as if he had made the cry several times before. "We shall have order on the floor, or the sentries will clear the floor!"

Draco entered in the midst of order being restored, everyone returning to their seats. Potter was in the row in front of Draco's desk. Potter looked exhausted. He wasn't actually in Wizengamot robes, but a torn, scuffed, and burned black muggle suit. It looked like he had come right to the chambers from a melee duel.

"The member from Surrey still has the floor," Dumbledore said after order had been restored.

"Thank you, Chief Warlock," Potter said, standing again. There was a tear in the back of his suit jacket, revealing the once-white shirt below it and a small blood stain. "As I was saying, last night Death Eaters attacked the American Embassy in London. They severely damaged the Embassy, most notably by the removal of the distinctive eagle feature of the building. Fortunately witches and wizards from their Marine Corps guard were able with some assistance to repel the Death Eaters from the Embassy, but only after they were able to enter it and obtain some sensitive documents stored within. The Americans are understandably upset. I'm informed that President Clinton is dispatching his Secretary of Magic, DeConcini, to personally make that known. I do not blame him.

"I spent a good portion of last night at the Embassy, assisting with restoring the damage after working with the Marines. I can assure you that what ever that eagle is made of, it is bloody heavy. I hope that I have managed through those efforts to impart some good will.

"Like it or not, last night was the opening in what can not be called a civil war or internal insurrection. Last night Tom Riddle and his Death Eaters declared war on the United States of America, not just the United Kingdom. There will be a day, very soon, when Riddle will regret that he woke that sleeping dragon.

"I yield the floor to member from Kent," Potter concluded as his knees gave out, and he collapsed into his chair. Almost immediately, the on-call healer was at his seat.

Draco spared little attention to what Madam Bones said. Instead he watched the healer take care of Potter's wounds. It wasn't long before his jacket and shirt were both off as the healer bandaged him up. He was sure that Potter hadn't just helped with the repairs. There was a good chance that Potter had fought off the Death Eaters.

As Draco looked at Potter being cared for, he noticed that just beyond him, staring back at Draco was the member from Cumberland, Pansy's grandfather. Her father was, last Draco heard, excluded from inheriting the seat. It wasn't something often done, because you had to get approval from one of a list of members of the Royal Family. Most pureblood wizards preferred not to deal with the Royal Family on that kind of level, assuming that they even knew where Windsor Castle was.

Draco was going to have to talk to Petros Parkinson soon. He was not worried about Perach Parkinson any more. According to the report that Pansy had managed to obtain from Saint Mungo's, her father was still confined there. Cursing Perach for hitting Pansy and Draco was the one cursing that Draco was glad that his father had done. There was a bit of guilt with that approval, but also a wish that he'd been able to do it instead.

One of Potter's pages was exiting after having delivered a message. Draco struck out his hand to grasp the Hufflepuff as they passed by. "Can you pass some messages on for me?" he asked the shocked boy. The boy nodded. "Ask the member from Cumberland if he's available for lunch, and let Granger and Weasley know about Potter's condition." The boy nodded and headed toward Petros Parkinson.

Draco really needed to get his staff up and running. Perhaps he could take a page from Potter's book. With his turning in his father, he'd cut a lot of ties with members in his house. Among the younger years, however, there were several who he didn't think were connected with the Dark Lord. Perhaps they'd be willing to help him in the office like Potter had got the Hufflepuffs to. If not, well, Potter hadn't raided the Ravenclaws who just finished their second years ... or the Gryffindors for that matter.

Draco smiled as the thought of the reaction that Weasley would have to him, the embodiment of Slytherin for his year, hiring Gryffindors. He nearly laughed at the idea of Dennis Creevy working for him. Then sobering, he considered the idea more. He'd need more than just pages to run errands. Potter's all student summer staff wasn't sustainable, but as Neville had told him, it was only intended as a stop gap measure.

Petros Parkinson caught Draco's eye again, after the page whispered in his ear. He nodded. Draco had a lunch date now. Perhaps he should see if Pansy wanted to join him. She might try to kill him if he didn't at least tell her about the meeting before it happened.

* * *

Harry Potter barely made it inside Number Four Privet Drive before collapsing. He'd been told that the potions that he'd been given would only last so long, and advised to go home early. Even then, he'd barely made it to the floo. Then, of course, he'd had to walk all the way from Figg's House on Wisteria Walk, each step taking more out of him than he'd felt when he was fighting Death Eaters on Grosvenor Square.

According to the marines guarding the Embassy, he'd fought the Death Eaters for three hours. Harry didn't remember much of it. He'd put everything he could into protecting that embassy with the Stars and Stripes flying above it. One of the marines had told him that it had given him new appreciation for his nation's anthem. Harry had never heard the anthem. Uncle Vernon had muted the telly every time the "bloody Yanks" had won during the broadcast of the Olympics from Barcelona after Harry's First Year.

As soon as he opened the door, Aunt Petunia was there. "Where have you been?" The tone was harsh, a remnant of many such inquiries in the past. The expression was not, at least by the time Harry looked up at her. He stumbled over the threshold.

Harry was too exhausted to respond, and barely managed to remain standing.

"You'll have to pardon Harry," came a familiar voice from behind. "It seems that after he left dinner with you last night to pick up something he left at his office, he just missed getting crushed by a Death Eater thrown glided eagle from the front of the American Embassy. Deciding to push his luck, even more, the knight errant, joined in it's defense. After the attack was beaten off, he then spent the rest of the night trying to make it look to the public that the attack never happened. This apparently included personally flying up with the aforementioned thirty-five feet wingspan gilded bald eagle and affixing it in place."

Just before Harry's legs went weak, he felt Hermione's arm going under his shoulder. "He then, still not having received any treatment, gave an hour long briefing on the attack to first the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, then to the Wizengamot. Only then did he accept treatment for multiple lacerations, contusions, and who could forget the two broken ribs ... wait a minute, you forgot about those Harry, didn't you?" Harry could only nod. "He was told to go home early and get some rest ... you know Harry, for him to admit he isn't fine ... I'm not certain what it takes, because he always replies that way."

Harry slumped into Hermione's side.

"Anyway, I got nominated to make sure that Harry got home safely," Hermione said. Harry could tell through the haze of his exhaustion that Aunt Petunia was not angry any more. "Can you help me get him up into his room. I don't think he's going to be much help."

Harry barely managed to keep his eyes open as he was practically carried by Hermione and his aunt up the stairs to his room. They laid him on his bed. The mattress was a lot more comfortable that it had been before.

"We should at least take off his shoes and trousers before he goes to sleep," Aunt Petunia said.

"If you don't mind, I have a couple good spells for that," Hermione said.

Aunt Petunia apparently accepted, because the next thing Harry knew he'd been tucked under the covers, and his clothes were shooting out from under them. All of them. If it wasn't for the fact he was so tired, he would have protested. He tried, opening his mouth into a gigantic yawn. The last thing he heard before he collapsed into sleep was "Hearts, Harry?"


End file.
